


Stay With Me, Sweetheart

by MandalaRose



Series: Stay With Me [1]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: (not Cas/Dean), Abandonment Issues, Adorable Baby Claire, Alternate Universe - Human, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Anal Sex, Angst, Angst with a Happy Ending, Anxiety Attacks, Because that is important information, Blow Jobs, Bottom Castiel/Top Dean Winchester, But especially Sam, Car Accidents, Castiel is Claire's Parent, Castiel wears glasses, Chronic Pain, Dean is the emotionally healthy one, Don't say I didn't warn you, Eventual Smut, F/F, F/M, Fire, Firefighter Dean Winchester, Fluff, Friends to Lovers, Gabriel flirts with everyone, Gabriel is a good big brother, Gay Castiel (Supernatural), Hand Jobs, Heavy Angst, Hospitalization, Hospitalized Castiel (Supernatural), Hospitals, House Fires (past and present), Injured Castiel (Supernatural), Kid Fic, Kind of comes with Dean's job, Like really slow, M/M, Major Character Injury, Medical Trauma, Mobility Aids, Mutual Pining, No Sabriel though, Oh yeah and there's smut, Oops, Openly Bisexual Dean Winchester, POV Alternating, POV Castiel (Supernatural), POV Dean Winchester, Painkillers, Panic Attacks, Past Canonical Character Deaths, Past dub-con relationship (not sexual), Past emotionally abusive relationship (not Cas/Dean), Physical Therapy, Pining, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Recovery, Rehabilitation, SO MUCH FLUFF, Serious Injuries, Sharing a Bed, Slow Build, Slow Burn, So much domestic Destiel fluff, Strangers to Friends to Lovers, Surgery, Switching, Teacher Castiel (Supernatural), Temporary Physical Disability, Therapy, These tags are not neccesarily in the order in which they appear in the story, This fic is really much fluffier than the tags make it sound, Top Castiel/Bottom Dean Winchester, Wheelchairs, Worth it though I hope, minor original character death, see slow burn warning above, sloooooooooow, so much pining, sorry - Freeform
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-09-07
Updated: 2020-01-24
Packaged: 2020-10-11 23:07:40
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 24
Words: 142,926
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/20554178
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MandalaRose/pseuds/MandalaRose
Summary: “Alright Cas, here comes the hard part.  We’re gonna get you out of here, but we’ve gotta take the roof off and while we do that, we’re gonna have to cover you with a sheet to protect you from the glass.  I’ll be right here though.  I’m not going anywhere.”As he starts to drift away, he suddenly feels the press of Dean’s forehead against his own through the rough fabric and hears that warm, sunlit voice murmer quietly in his ear, too low to be overheard by the firefighters currently working to remove the SUV’s roof, “Stay with me, Sweetheart.”A single moment's distraction ends with a serious car accident that leaves Castiel trapped in his vehicle.  Fortunately for him, fire fighter Dean Winchester is there, never leaving Castiel's side as the rest of his company work to free him from the mangled remains of his SUV.When the two meet again in the ICU, Castiel finds himself just as drawn to and comforted by the handsome fireman as he was during his accident.  Dean is certainly attractive, but single father Castiel doesn't have time or space in his life for a romantic relationship.Then again, there's no harm in making a new friend, is there?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> ***THIS WORK IS NOW COMPLETE***
> 
> Hi Everyone! 
> 
> So, I've been hinting at this fic for a while now and I'm finally ready to start posting. A little background: A year ago today, I was in a serious car accident. Followng that came a lengthy recovery and six months of medical leave from work. It was during this time that I started writing fanfic. It turns out that the accident gave me two things that are very conducive to writing: unresolved emotional baggage and a plethora of free time. I'm back at work now, so the free time is much more limited, but don't worry friends, I have enough emotional issues to keep me writing for quite some time.
> 
> There was a fire fighter who brought me an amazing amount of comfort during my accident and yes, he actually said the "Stay with me, Sweetheart" line that titles this fic. I've spent the past year trying to find the words to thank him, but nothing has ever seemed like enough... so I wrote him the 100,000+ word gay love story that he definitely never asked for instead.
> 
> So, this fic is dedicated to my firefighter, whom I did finally thank on Facebook today, by the way. I'm still shaking from that, in fact. I don't know his name, but whomever runs the fire department's Facebook page is going to try to find out who he was, so they can be sure he sees my thank you. 
> 
> Anyways, other thank yous for this fic include my sister and husband who have both been so incredibly supportive since I first told them about the idea months ago, along with all of those who have read and commented on my other fics and have otherwise encouraged my writing here, on Facebook, and/or on Discord. You are all amazing. 
> 
> Also, this is the first time I've worked with a beta, so those of you who've read my other works can thank [EllenOfOz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz) for sparing you from my usual grammar errors and typos. Any remaining errors are entirely my own.
> 
> This story has a lot of me in it and I truly hope you all enjoy it. Thank you so much for reading and if you'd like to reblog it on Tumblr, you can do so [here](https://a-mandala-rose.tumblr.com/post/187558457854/swms).
> 
> This is mostly written and will be updating weekly, on Saturdays (or maybe Friday evening if I get impatient).

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As you can see above, this fic has some really heavy tags. I'll include warnings for most chapters in the chapter end notes, but for Chapter 1, I'll list them at the beginning, since it dives right into the action.
> 
> Chapter 1 Warnings: serious car accident which is Castiel's fault, medical trauma, serious bodily injury, shock, panic, pain, some blood (fairly minimal, but still mentioned), medevac

# 

** _Friday, September 7, 2018_ **

There were no squealing tires. A strange thought to have at a time like this, but there it is. In the movies, the high-pitched squeal of rubber on asphalt always precedes the grating crash of metal-on-metal. But not today. The other driver hadn’t even had time to hit her brakes when Castiel, in a life-altering split-second of distraction, pulled out in front of her black Ford Expedition. Castiel’s eyes zeroed in on long blonde hair framing wide, panicked eyes before he heard a sickening crunch, followed by the deeper, heavier feeling of the Expedition colliding with the driver’s side door of his Highlander, the way the resounding crack of thunder always follows the lightning. 

Castiel’s eyes slowly blink open, squinting at the blurry dash and cracked windshield in front of him, before realizing that he must have lost his glasses during the collision. Collision. Right. He had been (is still in?) a car accident. 

_Fuck._

His thoughts coming slowly, each one taking what he’s fairly certain is considerably more effort than usual, Castiel takes stock of his battered vehicle and equally battered body. He’d been thrown toward the center of the SUV and his top half is currently suspended over the center console, being held up by his seatbelt and his right arm, which is supporting him with his hand pressed into the passenger seat. Squinting at the horizon beyond the damaged windshield, Castiel concludes that the Highlander is right side up (why that’s so relieving he isn’t sure), but the driver’s side has been, for lack of a better term, scrunched up by the impact and is now tilted toward the passenger side. Said scrunching has also left his bottom half pinned underneath the steering column. 

Speaking of... Castiel focuses his seemingly molasses-logged mental faculties on his body, starting with his toes. He attempts to flex his right foot and finds that it’s still pressed against the gas pedal, which he had slammed on in a futile attempt to outrun the impending collision. He can’t manage more than the slightest wiggle of his trapped foot, but that, along with the slowly registering pain he feels radiating throughout his body reassure him. At first, the pain feels... distant, almost like it’s happening to someone else. That doesn’t even make sense. If he could move his head, he’d shake it to dispel the ridiculous thought, but he finds that moving anything seems to take a colossal amount of effort, and each small movement sharpens his increasing awareness of the pain which suddenly seems much more present, and a thing that is definitely happening to _him._ His ribs burn and his attempts to move send shooting pains through his pelvis. Yet, somehow more prevalent in the forefront of his mind is a sharp pain in his backside. It feels like something is stabbing him and pressing deeper with every shift. How absurd. He has God-only-knows how many broken bones and the thing that’s bothering him most is something poking him in the ass. Castiel tries to chuckle, but all that leaves his lips is a pained gasp. He breathes through the pain. 

_Pain is good_, he reminds himself. Pain means alive. Pain means feeling. Pain means _not paralyzed._ That thought brings immense relief, in spite of his growing discomfort. The only place he doesn’t feel pain is his head, which either means he’s been lucky enough not to sustain a head injury... or just means he’s in even more shock than is already apparent. Suddenly exhausted, Castiel drops his head and stops trying to analyze his situation. On TV, doctors and EMTs are always trying to reduce the symptoms of shock. Distantly, Castiel thinks there must be a reason, but he knows enough to recognize now that it’s shock keeping his pain at bay and so he embraces it as he feels himself slowly drifting, his thoughts turning hazy.

The crunch of boots on gravel and broken glass bring Castiel’s head up. He drags his eyes upward from where his unfocused gaze on the light splatter of blood staining his slacks has been causing the small red droplets to dance around one another. An indistinct figure in the dark blue uniform of a police officer walks toward him, the red and blue lights of his patrol car flashing in the background. He’s not sure how long it’s been since he collided with the other SUV, which he only now realizes he hasn’t seen since those brief seconds before the crash. He supposes his vehicle must have spun away after the impact, but he can’t remember for sure. 

The officer’s voice interrupts Castiel’s thoughts, asking his name and assuring him that help is on the way. Castiel finds that he can’t quite bring his head up enough to focus on the man’s face, hovering what is probably only a few feet above him but may as well be miles, and focuses his attention on the dark skin of his hands instead. 

As the officer continues to speak, Castiel’s attention drifts. He thinks he answered some of the questions asked of him, but he’s not really sure of that either. He would feel frustrated if he could feel anything beyond a sense of numbness and a growing fatigue in the top half of his body, which is still straining to remain upright. It’s getting harder and harder to force his mind to attention and he floats in a haze of shock and adrenaline until the sound of nearing sirens catches his ear and finally draws his gaze to the officer’s face. Castiel is certain he didn’t imagine the expression of relief on features drawn tight with concern. For the first time since the accident, he feels afraid. How badly must he be injured for the officer to look like that? Eyes crossing and gaze unfocusing, Castiel’s heartrate and breathing quicken and he feels as if he might fly right out of his body. Overwhelmed, he surrenders to the feeling, letting it carry him away. 

He almost doesn’t register the officer’s last words, drenched with relief, “Do you hear that? The firefighters are here.”

* * *

“Mornin’ Sunshine.”

The voice is deep but gentle; warm and reassuring, like sunlight through the window pane on those early spring days when the sun pushes away the winter chill and whispers promises of summer. It calls Castiel back to himself and with less effort than any motion has taken so far, he turns his head to the left and opens his eyes, only to find his breath catching in his throat as he locks onto green eyes less than a foot away from his. The eyes match the voice, Castiel thinks idly, a warm green flecked with gold that reminds him of summer afternoons as a child spent exploring the woods behind his grandparents’ house, pinpricks of sunlight filtering through the dense leaf cover. And where did that thought come from? Maybe he actually did hit his head after all.

“Ah, there you are.” The eyes crinkle around the edges, drawing Castiel’s attention to the rest of the man before him. The glass in Castiel’s driver’s side window had shattered and fallen away from the door completely, opening the space through which the man (firefighter, Castiel corrects in his head, remembering the police officer’s parting words) leans carefully, bringing himself level with Castiel. He’s close enough that Castiel can discern his features even without his glasses. The green eyes that provoked such embarrassingly poetic thoughts of summer are set in a tan face with high cheekbones, a strong, stubbled jawline, and full cupid’s bow lips that look equally suited to pouting or smiling. Right now, they’re smiling gently as Castiel takes in light brown hair, muscled arms, and a broad set of shoulders filling out a fitted, dark gray t-shirt framed by the mangled remains of Castiel’s car window. In short, he’s the most gorgeous man Castiel has ever seen up close. Suddenly, Castiel is mortifyingly aware that he has a dribble of blood and saliva hanging from his mouth, but he still can’t get his muscles to cooperate enough to wipe it way. His embarrassment is short lived however. Like the other swirling thoughts he’s had since the crash, he can’t seem to grasp onto it and it shifts away like sand through his fingers. 

“My name’s Dean,” says the firefighter as his eyes continue to hold Castiel’s. “Can you tell me yours?”

“Castiel. Milton.” It takes Castiel several seconds to form his mouth around the familiar and yet suddenly foreign shape of his name. He’s not sure if it’s from the trauma and shock of the accident or the shock from the vision that is Dean the Firefighter, but he suspects it might be both.

“Hey Cas.” Dean’s smile widens like Castiel’s given him a gift and not just struggled to produce his own damn name. 

“We’re gonna get you out of here, but it’s going to take a little bit, so I need you to stay with me and talk to me, okay? Were you alone in the vehicle?” Dean asks, his eyes flickering to the car seat positioned on the passenger side of Castiel’s back seat. 

“Yes,” Castiel grunts, his words slurring together as he adds, “My daughter. Claire. At daycare.” 

Claire had been the reason Castiel was in the car in the first place, making the left hand turn that should have led him towards Claire’s daycare, but instead ended with him trapped in the wreckage of his SUV. Castiel had received a call from the daycare while teaching his last class of the day at Shawnee Mission North High School, letting him know that 8-month-old Claire had a fever. Castiel had cursed inwardly. He’d known Claire wasn’t feeling good that morning, her usual happy demeanor subdued and replaced by whiney clinginess. However, she hadn’t had a fever, and while people tended to think teachers “lucky” for having two months off in the summer, what they didn’t realize was that this resulted in them getting very little sick leave during the school year. Unfortunately, small children typically weren’t considerate enough to reserve all of their sniffles and illnesses for the months of June and July. Also, it was only the first week of school and Castiel hadn’t wanted to set a bad example for his students by missing a day already. After all, the best way to teach was through example. If his students didn’t think that he took his class and their learning seriously enough to show up, neither would they. And so, Castiel had dropped Claire off at daycare that morning and hoped for the best. So much for that. 

Resigned, he had sighed and assured the daycare assistant that he was on his way. After assigning reading for his students to complete and quickly arranging for an office staff member to cover the last 25 minutes of his class, Castiel had rushed to his SUV and pulled quickly out of the parking lot. Feeling guilty and eager to get Claire home, Castiel’s mind had jumped from thoughts of how much children’s ibuprofen he had at the house, to how he was going to rearrange his lesson plans for the next week to make up for missing half a class today (thank goodness it was Friday and he’d at least have the weekend to make adjustments), to how he was going to get dinner made with a sick child at home (not to mention the grocery shopping and other errands he needed to do this weekend). Castiel loved his daughter more than anything, but sometimes the stress of being a single parent caught up to him. Feeling exhausted and defeated, Castiel had pulled up to the stop sign at an intersection less than five minutes from his school, his mind still on his seemingly endless “to do” list. He had looked both ways before pulling into the intersection. He knows he did. Did he see the other SUV? How could he not have?

“Okay,” soothes Dean, drawing Castiel back to the present. “Do you feel any pain right now?” Dean’s eyes narrow in concern, never leaving Castiel’s. Castiel couldn’t look away if he tried and while he had found himself barely able to respond to the police officer, he feels compelled to answer Dean the Firefighter. He pushes away the floaty feeling still clouding his mind and focuses instead on the sharpening pain. 

“My lower back hurts the worst,” he says and look at that, his first sentence! “My hips and pelvis hurt if I move. And it feels like something is poking me in the... back.” The pain floods his awareness and Castiel gasps, his breaths coming harsher as he begins to feel the damage done to his body all over again. 

Dean’s eyes scan down his torso, sharply taking in the details of his visible injuries. He continues to guide Castiel through cataloguing his pain. Castiel finds himself able to answer Dean’s questions, although the effort it takes is palpable. He seems completely unable to form any novel conversation of his own though. His mind is still sluggish and what thoughts he’s able to hold onto refuse to be forced into spoken words. 

“You’re doing great, Cas,” Dean says softly, his eyes back on Castiel’s. Castiel tries to nod, but the right arm that’s still supporting his upper half wobbles dangerously and he gasps as the sudden shift sends pain through his back and pelvis. 

“Here,” Dean says quickly, already moving around the front of the SUV, “let me get in there and help you with that.” Sliding into the passenger seat, Dean wraps his left arm behind Castiel while bracing Castiel’s right shoulder against his chest and gripping his bicep with a warm, firm hand. 

“There, I’ve got you. Just relax,” says Dean, easily taking Castiel’s weight as he sags against him with a sigh of relief. Castiel has no idea how long they sit like that, only vaguely aware of the movement and voices of Dean’s fellow firefighters around him as they cut away the driver’s side door. The floaty feeling from before starts to press against Castiel’s consciousness again and he feels himself start to drift like an unmoored boat floating away from the shore. 

“Stay with me, Cas,” Dean’s voice anchors him, solid and strong against the tide. Castiel pulls himself back from the edge, focusing on the warm, firm line of Dean’s body against his.

Castiel’s awareness sharpens as the door to his left is lifted away from the SUV and he hears the whiskey rich voice of another fire fighter say in a (Cajun?) tinged accent, “Ain’t gonna work. No way we’ll be able to get him out this way.” 

“What do you want to do?” asks a disembodied voice, presumably that of yet another one of Dean’s colleagues. 

“We’ll have to take the whole roof off,” answers the Cajun decisively. “Dean, you’re gonna want to come out of there. We’ve gotta take the roof.” Castiel panics. No. Instinctively, he knows that Dean is the only thing holding him together right now. Without Dean, he’ll fly apart. A cold fear fills every part of Castiel’s body, even subsuming the ever-present pain. 

_“Don’t leave me!”_ screams Castiel in his mind, the sentiment echoed by every suddenly taut muscle in his body, but the words get caught in his throat, his mouth unable to form the syllables and his breath too strangled to force out the sounds. However, it seems his panic was for nothing, because barely a moment passes before he can feel Dean shaking his head next to him. 

“Nah. I’m good where I am. I’ll need a shower after this, cause I’ll be covered in glass, but I’ll be fine.” 

Castiel starts to relax, then tenses again as the Cajun firefighter he’s quickly building a grudge against responds, “At least take a minute to put on some gear.” 

Dean stiffens next to him and says firmly, tone brooking no argument, “He’s already gone out on me twice Benny. I’m not leaving him.” 

Castiel feels lightheaded with relief at the decisiveness in Dean’s voice and Benny must hear it too, because he sighs, “Alright brother. It’s your choice.” Dean shifts beside Castiel and leans into him. 

“Alright Cas, here comes the hard part. We’re gonna get you out of here, but we’ve gotta take the roof off and while we do that, we’re gonna have to cover you with a sheet to protect you from the glass. I’ll be right here though. I’m not going anywhere.” 

While the concern is touching, Castiel thinks it a little excessive. It’s just a sheet. He knows Dean will still be here next to him and he’ll be able to hear everything happening, even if he can’t see it. 

But Dean must know something he doesn’t. As the heavy white sheet descends over his head, separating him from Dean and the distractions of the outside world, Castiel’s focus narrows to his own body, to the pain, to the abrasions covering his arms where the glass from his window has sliced at him and ground itself into his skin, to the blood still spattered on and around him. He feels his pulse quicken, his breaths coming shallow and fast, and the same flying apart feeling as before begins to crash over him, pulling him further from the shore. 

As he starts to drift away, he suddenly feels the press of Dean’s forehead against his own through the rough fabric and hears that warm, sunlit voice murmer quietly in his ear, too low to be overheard by the firefighters currently working to remove the SUV’s roof, “Stay with me, Sweetheart.” 

Dean’s voice, the quiet endearment, and the extra point of contact at his forehead ground Castiel. How Dean knew, he can’t imagine, but everything he’s done is exactly what Castiel needs in this moment. His eyes tear up and he wishes for the words to express his gratitude to the firefighter currently curved over him protectively, his head bowed to rest against Castiel’s, exposing his neck to the shower of crumbling safety glass. As it is, the words seem to get lost somewhere between his brain and his mouth, so he presses his forehead back against Dean’s, doing his best to reassure the firefighter that he’s heeded his words. He’s still here. He stayed.

Castiel blinks up at Dean as the white tarp-like sheet is carefully pulled off him, squinting at the sudden brightness now that his SUV is officially a convertible. The change is disorienting. Whereas before it had felt like he and Dean were in their own world, separated from the buzz of the busy firefighters moving around his vehicle by the twisted metal frame of his Highlander, now the rescue team is suddenly much closer, climbing over the crumpled hood as they prepare to lift Castiel out of the vehicle. 

Dean smiles down at Castiel, “There you are. Ready to get out of here?” Dean supports Castiel’s right side, while another firefighter takes his left as two others crouch behind and in front of him. As the team begins to slowly lift Castiel and slide him out from beneath the weight of the steering column, pain flares through his bottom half and Castiel throws his head back and lets out a pained shout. 

“Easy! Easy,” Dean calls roughly to his colleagues, who pause in their attempt to extricate Castiel from the wreckage. 

“Hey there, Sunshine,” Dean says soothingly, “I know it hurts, but we’ve gotta move you. We’ll be as careful and as quick as we can be, okay?” 

In too much pain to speak, Castiel grits his teeth and nods once. Seeing his resolve, Dean gives his team the go ahead to continue. 

In a move that is surprisingly smooth and fluid, Castiel is lifted out of the driver’s seat, over the hood of his SUV, and deposited gently on a stretcher before he even has time to react to the sudden spike in pain. Once there, two EMTs strap his chest to the backboard, before one moves to straighten his lower half, which even Castiel can see is twisted unnaturally. As the man places his hands on Castiel’s hips and begins to turn them, Castiel screams in agony. In less than a heartbeat, Dean is there. 

“Don’t turn him,” he orders the EMT gruffly. “I’m about 90% sure he’s got a shattered pelvis. Just take him like that.” 

As the EMT starts to argue, Dean talks over him, “Look, it’s pretty clear that moving hurts him. There’s no reason to move him more than you have to. Leave it.” 

Castiel hears another voice call out, “We’ve got to go! That was a long extraction and we’re running low on fuel.” 

At this, Dean looks down at Cas, “Hey Sunshine, guess what? You’re gonna take a ride in a helicopter.” He nods to the left and Castiel looks to see a medevac chopper sitting in the field next to the intersection. 

As Castiel turns his gaze back to Dean, his eyes land on a black SUV with a smashed front end, sitting abandoned in the middle of the road. Wide, scared eyes and blonde hair flood his memory. The other driver. Castiel scans the area surrounding the SUV, but there’s no sign of her. Is she okay? Was she injured and already taken to the hospital? By ambulance or was she flown out too? Castiel swallows. Or worse, did he kill somebody? He looks up at Dean. He should ask. Castiel opens his mouth, but it seems that although his brain is functioning, his mouth is still in Q&A mode. Voluntary sentences are apparently a no go. Castiel closes his eyes as he’s flooded with guilty relief that he won’t have to ask about the woman and learn the consequences of his horrifying mistake right now. He’ll ask eventually, but right now, it’s taking everything he has to hold himself together and he’s not sure he could handle it if the worst is true. He feels selfish and cowardly, but there it is.

Blissfully, he’s distracted from his current train of thought as they approach the helicopter and Dean speaks again, “Cas, these are my friends Jo and Tessa and they’re gonna take good care of you.” The two flight medics smile at him and Castiel manages a weak smile in return. 

“Is there anyone we can have the hospital call for you?” Dean asks and Castiel didn’t realize until just that moment how much he had been waiting for someone to ask that question. “My brother,” he almost shouts, “Gabriel.” Castiel rattles off Gabriel’s cell number, the only phone number besides his own and his work number that he has memorized. He had rolled his eyes when he first learned Gabriel’s phone number and the reason behind it. The last four digits, “7399,” spelled out the word “S-E-X-Y.” “Easy to remember and the pick-up lines write themselves,” Gabriel had winked when he first gave Castiel his new number. Now though, Castiel is suddenly grateful for his ridiculous older brother’s immature sense of humor, not that he’ll ever tell him that. 

Thoughts of Gabriel immediately lead to thoughts of Claire. Gabriel will be able to finally pick her up from daycare. How late is it anyway? He knows Claire is too young to understand what’s going on, but Castiel always picks her up at the same time every day. Does she realize that something’s different? Is she upset that the other children have all gone home, but her Daddy hasn’t come through the door yet? Will she be upset when he’s not there to put her to bed tonight? She’s so young she won’t even be able to understand why he’s not there... why he’s left her. He blinks back tears as he wonders how long it will be before he tucks in his baby girl again. Desperate to pull himself away from his dark thoughts, he looks back up at Dean, who must notice his distress, because he places a gentle hand on Castiel’s shoulder and squeezes. 

“You’re gonna be okay, Cas.” As the stretcher is lifted into the helicopter, Jo and Tessa climbing in with him, Castiel watches Dean. He wishes he could say something; thank you, goodbye, anything, but the words don’t come.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get a glimpse inside Dean's head and find out more about Cas' injuries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you to everyone who read, gave kudos, and/or commented on Chapter 1 last week! There were so many kind words both about the story and about me and every one is deeply appreciated! I hope you enjoy Chapter 2! 
> 
> There aren't any real warnings for this chapter, other than there will be discussion of serious physical injuries and their treatment. Also, Cas spends time in the ICU.

** _Friday, September 7, 2018_ **

Dean watches the medevac grow smaller as it carries Cas toward the trauma center at the University of Kansas Medical Center’s main campus in Kansas City. It’s the top trauma facility in the state of Kansas; he’ll be in good hands there. Sighing, Dean shakes his head at himself before turning away from the shrinking chopper and walking back toward the accident scene. 

_Cas?_ Since when does he nickname accident victims? And not only that, he called the man_ sweetheart_ for fuck’s sake. Who even does that? In _Kansas_ no less. Dean’s just lucky the guy couldn’t move or he’d probably have been decked, and rightfully so. You can’t just go around calling strangers pet names like, “Sunshine” and “Sweetheart.” Christ, if Bobby, Dean’s pseudo-uncle/surrogate father and department chief knew about that he’d ream Dean a new one _and _make him sit through the sexual harassment training again. 

On the other hand, Cas (_Castiel, _for fuck’s sake) hadn’t seemed to mind. He’d definitely calmed when Dean called him sweetheart and had seemed more focused and stable every time Dean referred to him as “Cas” or “Sunshine.” _Sure Winchester, the guy might have had a head injury and was definitely in shock. I’m sure that didn’t have any impact on his reactions at all. _

Dean still can’t figure out what possessed him to behave so intimately with the handsome stranger. And Cas is certainly handsome. Wild, dark hair sticking out in every direction (Dean’s not sure if that was by nature, design, or a result of spinning out after being struck by a two-ton piece of machinery, but whatever it was, it sure as hell was working for Cas) above stupidly blue eyes and a jaw that looked like it probably had a five o’clock shadow at nine in the morning. Somehow even the bruises and lacerations from the accident only added to the allure. 

Nope. Nope, nope, nopity-fucking-nope. Dean is _not_ going to keep thinking about the attractiveness of a man who had been literally _trapped in his vehicle_ for their entire acquaintance! He categorically refuses to be that flavor of creepy. The bottom line is that he’d looked into Cas’ frightened, pain-filled eyes (has he mentioned how stupidly blue they were?) and the endearments had rolled off his tongue. It had felt right. Dean’s always had good instincts when it comes to reading people and he generally trusts those instincts. He’d done so with Cas and there’s no point in second guessing himself now.

Still feeling more than a little guilty and hoping to hell his idiot mouth didn’t make an already God-awful situation even worse for Cas, Dean watches as the rest of his company prepares to toss the now liberated roof back on top of the demolished SUV, in preparation for the tow truck and clean-up crews to clear the road. As the group prepare to heave the roof, Dean sees the sunlight glint off a pair of glasses resting on the passenger side floor. 

“Just a sec,” he calls, ducking back into the vehicle and scooping up the black plastic frames. Shit, that must have been the reason Cas was squinting so much. He probably couldn’t see for shit without his glasses. Dean feels bad. How much scarier must something like that be when you can’t even see what’s happening around you? 

Cringing as the roof falls onto the Highlander’s remains with a loud crunch, Dean watches as the car seat he’d noticed earlier is crushed beneath the falling metal. Cas had mentioned a daughter, but gave his brother as his next of kin. Does that mean he’s not married to Claire’s mom, or had he just wanted his brother to be the one to break the news to her and not some impersonal nurse from the hospital? Dean hadn’t noticed a ring, but that doesn’t always mean anything. Most of the married guys at the station, for example, don’t wear their rings while on duty. Why is he even wondering about this? It’s not like it matters whether or not Cas is single. _Jesus Dean, trying to pick up accident victims now?_ It’s been far too long since he’s been laid, clearly.

Dean looks up and clears his head of errant (and totally fucking inappropriate) thoughts as he sees Benny walking towards him. 

“Hey brother, whatchya got there?” Benny asks, nodding at the glasses clutched in Dean’s hand. 

“Glasses. They were on the floor of the Highlander. Probably flew right off Cas’ face. I’ll stop by the hospital and drop them off tomorrow before my shift.” 

Benny raises his eyebrows, “I’m sure, ‘Cas’ will appreciate it.” 

Dean scowls at Benny who smirks, but has the good sense not to comment further, instead changing the subject, “Why don’t you catch a ride back with the first rig? Rescue 1 is gettin’ ready to head out. Get that shower before the next call comes in.” 

Dean nods in relief and absently scratches the back of his neck. Auto glass is designed to break apart into tiny pebbles so there aren’t as many shards as there would be otherwise, but it’s still irritating as hell and Dean’ll be glad to get rid of it. 

“Thanks man. I’ll catch you back at the station.” With that he jogs over to the waiting truck and climbs aboard.

* * *

Jo and Tessa work quickly and efficiently, hovering over Castiel as the chopper makes its way further into Kansas City. As Tessa cuts Castiel’s clothes away from his body, he has the fleeting thought that he’s going to miss that button up. It was almost new, bought for the coming school year. Of course, it’s not like he’ll be needing work clothes any time soon. He doesn’t know the extent of his injuries, but the fact that he’s being life flighted would probably indicate they are... significant, to say the least. At that thought, Castiel feels the panic begin to well up again and ruthlessly pushes it down. Not now. Instead, he focuses on Jo’s face as she holds up a long, thick piece of black fabric with three Velcro straps. 

“I know it hurts to have anything moving or touching your hips,” she says apologetically, “but we have to put this binder on you to stabilize your pelvis before we move you again.” 

Suppressing his panic again at the anticipation of more pain, Castiel nods weakly. Jo and Tessa are quick as they shimmy the binder underneath Castiel’s hips and fasten it around his waist, one of them straightening his torso while the other secures the Velcro fastenings, but _fuck _does it hurt. The noise that leaves Castiel would probably be classified as a scream if his teeth weren’t clenched together so hard. After the binder is fastened, Castiel’s pain abates somewhat (somewhat being from a 10 to maybe a 9), and he finds that he’s now able to lie flat. He tries to relax his muscles and regain control of his ragged breathing as he feels the medevac making its descent.

Still dazed from the pain, Castiel barely realizes what’s happening as his stretcher is transferred from the chopper to a gurney and he’s whisked away from Tessa and Jo and into the trauma bay of the University of Kansas Medical Center, suddenly surrounded by new faces. He counts at least five nurses and doctors hovering over him, while others move in and out of his peripheral vision bringing equipment, checking monitors, and conferring with the team currently working on Castiel with impressive speed. Every one of them seems to know their job and their role in Castiel’s care, weaving around one another with practiced ease. 

After a team of trauma nurses and doctors carefully transfer him from the back board to a hospital bed, an experience which while unpleasant is still so much better with the binder in place, one nurse walks him through giving his basic information and describing his injuries and current pain level again as two others sit on either side of him, each holding an arm while they attempt to place an IV line. 

“Got it!” calls out the nurse on his left as she places the line, while her counterpart stops her quest for a vein in his right arm and pats it instead, “Once you’re a little more stable we’ll be able to give you some pain meds through your IV.” 

“That would be very much appreciated,” he mumbles, relieved to hear the words actually complete the journey from his brain to his vocal chords this time. That has to be a good sign, right?

A doctor introduces himself to Castiel as one of the hospital’s trauma attendings and tells Castiel he’s ordering an MRI. 

“I’m sorry we can’t hold off until after you’ve had some pain meds, but we need to get a look at your internal injuries as soon as possible. Once we have an idea of what we’re looking at and you’ve stabilized, we’ll see about getting you a bed in the ICU.” 

Castiel just nods tiredly. 

As his bed is returned to the trauma bay following his MRI, a new nurse greets him with, “Mr. Milton? I was able to reach your brother. He’s on his way to pick up your daughter now. As soon as he’s made arrangements for her care, he’ll be on his way.” Tears well up in Castiel’s eyes. He doesn’t think he’s ever been so happy to hear that his insufferable brother is coming. 

After what feels both like an eternity and no time at all, Castiel learns that his blood pressure and heartrate have stabilized enough for him to receive pain medication and he’s introduced to the wonderful world of intravenous narcotics. He sighs in relief and his eyes slip closed as the pain fades to a dull roar, still ever-present, but able to be pushed to the background. The busy buzz of the trauma bay continues around him, but Castiel only dimly pays attention. Two nurses bathe him and clean his wounds and a doctor sutures the cuts on his face and arms, as well as a long laceration down the left side of his rib cage. 

“We’ll wait to close the wound on your backside until we have you in surgery. It’ll definitely need stitches, but it’s stopped bleeding for now.” Ah ha! Castiel _knew_ something was stabbing him in the car. 

Finally, following another MRI and having a catheter placed (and isn’t he glad _that_ at least waited until after the pain meds were in his system), Castiel’s condition is declared critical but stable and he’s transferred to the hospital’s surgical intensive care unit. He doesn’t know what time it is now, only that it’s dark outside the windows and probably has been for some time. Castiel barely hears the ICU staff introduce themselves as his eyes slip closed after what has been a _very_ long day.

* * *

** _Saturday, September 8, 2018_ **

Castiel isn’t sure how much time has passed when he wakes to Gabriel’s familiar and boisterous laugh, but sees bright sunlight shining through the windows above his bed, so he’s guessing it must be sometime mid-morning. He takes in the steady blip tracing and retracing its jagged line across the screen of the heart monitor next to his bed, then scans the rest of the ICU room he’d barely taken in before falling asleep the night before. 

It’s a private room, as all the ICU cubicles are, not large but spacious enough to accommodate a single bed along with the heart monitor and, he imagines, whatever other equipment critically injured patients might need, without being in the way of the ICU medical staff. A whiteboard lines one wall with sections for the date, his current nurse’s name, care plan, and pain goal (not something he ever thought he’d have to be quite honest) above a 1-10 scale lined with increasingly distressed smiley faces. The room is clean and bright, and reassuringly quiet after the constant action of the trauma bay. 

“Hey kiddo! Glad to see you back in the land of the living,” says Gabriel, drawing Castiel’s eyes to the front of the room, where his brother is leaning against the door frame next to a pretty nurse with curly blonde hair, dressed in light blue scrubs. 

“Good morning Castiel,” says the pretty nurse brightly, “My name is Jessica and I’ll be your nurse today.” Jessica moves to Castiel’s bedside and takes his vitals, asking, “How’s your pain this morning, on a scale of one to ten?” 

Castiel looks at the smiley face scale on the white board and tilts his head. Is he supposed to look like one of those? 

Jessica follows his gaze and chuckles, “ten being the worst pain you can imagine and zero of course being no pain at all.” 

Castiel doesn’t have to imagine. With a shudder, he recalls the pain of his hips being jostled and moved yesterday evening before the pain killers. Labelling that in his head as his “ten,” Castiel considers his current pain in comparison and replies, “About a six or seven?” 

“Hmm,” responds Jessica, “not too bad considering, but I’m going to up your Tramadol a bit. I’d like to get you down to a four or five if we can.” 

Nodding eagerly, Castiel quips, “You won’t get any argument from me.” 

Jessica smiles down at him kindly, “Looks like your sense of humor is intact. Always a good sign!” She fiddles with a machine attached to Castiel’s IV pole, then hands him a small cylinder with a button that’s attached to the machine by a long cord. It reminds Castiel of a Jeopardy buzzer. 

“This is your magic button.” 

Seeing Gabriel’s eyes light up across the room, Castiel shoots him a flat look just as he opens his mouth. Gabriel deflates and closes his mouth again with a pout. 

“Pressing it will give you an extra dose of pain medication through your IV. You can only press it once every ten minutes though. Go ahead and give it a try.” 

Castiel presses the button and notices a green light on his Jeopardy buzzer of pain relief go out. 

“You should feel the effects of the medicine in just a minute. When the green light comes back on, it means you can press the button again for more.” 

Castiel nods his understanding as Jessica continues, “I’ll be in to talk to you later and so will one of the trauma docs. For now, I’ll let you and your brother visit, but my desk is right there outside your door if you need me.”

“Thank you,” Castiel responds as Jessica moves away from his bed, to be replaced by Gabriel on his other side. 

Jessica nods her acknowledgement and leaves the room as Castiel turns his head to face his older brother. Gabriel’s eyes have lost the amusement from earlier and now look serious and soft. 

“Hey, Baby Bro,” he says softly, “You really had me worried there for a minute. When I got that call and they told me you’d been _flown_ here...” his voice breaks and he lets the sentence trail off. 

“I’m so sorry, Gabe,” Castiel starts, but Gabe halts him with a shake of his head.

“No. No way kiddo. Don’t you apologize. You have nothing to be sorry for.” 

“But I do, Gabe,” Castiel cuts in, voice rough. “The accident was my fault. I was distracted and I pulled out right in front of that other SUV. She didn’t even have time to stop. I don’t know how I didn’t see her there. I looked. I swear I looked!” Castiel cuts off, wiping his eyes angrily and flinging his head back against his pillows in frustration. He lets out one involuntary sob and gasps as pain flares in his ribs. Okay, crying is definitely a no then. Seeing the green light has relit on his pain-banishing joystick, Castiel presses the button and sighs a moment later as he _feels_ the meds make their way into his bloodstream. Oh, he and the magic button are going to be good friends indeed.

“Cassie,” Gabe pauses until Castiel reluctantly meets his eyes again, “they’re called _accidents_ for a reason. It could have happened to anyone.”

“But it didn’t happen to anyone. It happened to me.”

“I know, kid. That’s not something I’m likely to forget anytime soon.” Gabriel’s voice is light, but Castiel can hear the pain underneath. He really did scare his big brother. 

Stifling the urge to apologize again because he knows Gabe won’t want to hear it, Castiel changes the subject, “Claire?” 

Gabriel smiles, “The munchkin’s fine. Charlie’s got her for the day, which is why your BFF isn’t sitting next to your bedside with me. I do have a message for you though. I’m supposed to tell you not to worry about anything (not that you’ll listen), your classes will be taken care of (even though you’ll probably complain about what an awful job your sub did once you’re back), and that she will be royally kicking your ass for leaving her to face the ‘rabid hoards of teenage hormones’ on her own.” 

Castiel feels a genuine smile tug at the corners of his mouth for the first time since he made that left turn (well, half of that left turn) yesterday. Charlie is his best friend and a fellow teacher at Shawnee Mission North. Although he teaches English and she teaches Computer Science, the two have been close since Castiel started teaching at the school last spring, replacing a teacher who had retired after the Winter Break due to medical reasons. A Kansas high school isn’t necessarily the most welcoming place for an openly gay male teacher and word of Castiel’s orientation had spread more rapidly through the school than he’d thought possible. 

Charlie had quickly adopted Castiel though, bouncing into the seat next to him at their first staff meeting together and announcing, “FINALLY! Someone else around here who bats for the home team, am I right?” with a sly grin directed over his shoulder at Gordon Walker, the school’s PE teacher and baseball coach, who’d refused to even shake Castiel’s _hand_ upon their introduction earlier that week. 

Charlie’s petite frame managed to contain a personality and force of will five times her size (“Sooo, you’re saying I’m bigger on the inside?” she’d asked excitedly when Castiel had told her as much, prompting a confused head tilt on his part when he didn’t understand the reference, which inevitably led to his induction into the world of Doctor Who, under Charlie’s experienced guidance. “It’s like I’m the Doctor, the _tenth_ Doctor _obviously,_ and you’re my companion!”). Her friendship more than made up for the chilly reception he’d received from some of their other colleagues.

“Tell Charlie thanks for everything and I’ll gladly take any and all ass-kickings her majesty wishes to bestow if she can convince whatever warm body they have subbing for me to actually follow my damn syllabus while I’m out,” Castiel grouses, thinking forlornly of all the great ideas he’d had for his classes this year. He wonders if he’ll be back in time for their Shakespeare unit in the spring. 

Speaking of time, “Gabriel,” Castiel begins hesitantly, “I don’t know how long I’m going to be here... and Claire—”

“Will be staying with me,” Gabriel cuts in smoothly, “or rather, I thought I’d stay at your place with her. I figure it’ll be easier on the munchkin that way. Then, once you’re home, I can move from your room to the sofa bed until you’re up on your feet and able to take care of Claire on your own again.” 

Castiel feels his eyes fill up with tears... again (What is with the crying? He’s certain he hasn’t cried this much since he was Claire’s age). 

“Gabriel, you... I... thank you,” Castiel finishes lamely. Words can’t possibly express how grateful he is for his brother anyway, but Gabriel’s uncharacteristically soft smile says he understands anyway. 

“No problem little bro. Now where’s that pretty nurse?” he wonders aloud as he waggles his eyebrows at Castiel. “I wonder if I can convince her that visitors need sponge baths too...”

* * *

Dean stretches before reaching for his phone in confusion, wondering why he set the alarm when he doesn’t work again until this evening. His bleary gaze falls on the glasses sitting next to the phone on his nightstand and he remembers. _Cas._ He has to drive into the city today to drop Cas’ glasses off at the hospital. Dean rubs his eyes and takes another moment to collect himself before he sits up. He’d gone on three more calls before the end of his shift yesterday: another accident (although thankfully less severe), a small house fire, and an equally small, but more difficult to extinguish kitchen fire at a popular local restaurant. He’s exhausted, but he’ll take a series of minor calls over a major incident any day of the week. There hadn’t been any fatalities on his shift yesterday, and that makes it a good day in Dean’s book. 

Thirty minutes later finds Dean showered and standing in his kitchen, frowning down at his Keurig and silently urging it to brew faster. He still can’t believe he owns one of these damn things. It had been a Christmas gift from Sam last year after getting tired of hearing Dean bitch about how he hated having to wait for an entire pot of coffee to brew when he was only going to drink one cup and, “No, Sammy, I can’t just brew half a pot. It doesn’t taste the same you leaf-water-drinking heathen.” Even though he’ll never admit it to Sam, as a single guy living by himself, the Keurig really is more convenient. 

Travel mug (finally) full, he grabs his keys and wallet and heads toward the door, stopping to give his reflection a once over in the full-length mirror that hangs on the door of his coat closet. (Why does he have a full-length mirror just chilling in his entry way? Fuck if he knows. It was there when he moved in, but to be honest, it does come in handy at times like these.) He takes in his faded AC/DC t-shirt under his red flannel, his fitted blue jeans, and black boots, and wonders if this is okay to wear to the hospital. What does one wear when visiting a near-total stranger that he whispered goddam sweet nothings to while the poor shmuck was stuck there next to him, injured and unable to escape? _Fuck._ At least his jeans are clean and his t-shirt doesn’t have any holes in it (he doesn’t think so anyway). He glares at himself in the mirror one more time (as if it’s his reflection’s fault Dean’s a dumbass), before raking his fingers through his short brown hair and stepping outside.

Dean locks the door to his one-bedroom apartment and heads for the parking lot and his 1967 Chevy Impala. His apartment isn’t much, it’s small and dated, but it’s clean, in a good neighborhood, and all he can really afford on the salary of a dedicated public servant. He supposes he could have found a place in a cheaper suburb (Overland Park isn’t the most inexpensive place to live) but that would have meant a significantly longer commute to the station. His Baby is a lot of things, but easy on the gas mileage ain’t one of them.

As Dean slides into the driver’s seat he pulls up Sam’s contact on his phone, chuckling like always at the expression on Sam’s face in his contact photo (one Dean affectionately refers to as, “Bitchface No. 7”) and hits the call button. He puts the phone on speaker before tossing it gently on the passenger seat. 

“Hey, Sammy,” Dean says when Sam picks up after a couple of rings, “is Jess working today?” 

“Yeah,” Sam answers, “She’s on the next three days, why do you ask?” 

“An accident victim from one of my calls yesterday was flown out to her hospital. I found the guy’s glasses at the scene after they’d flown him out and thought I’d drop them off for him. It has to suck not being able to see anything on top of everything else he’s got going on right now. Based on his injuries, I’d bet money he ended up in your fiancée’s ICU.” Dean checks his side mirror before changing lanes and making he right turn that’ll take him toward Kansas City.

“She’ll be there, but I don’t know if she’ll be able to let you in to see him, Dean,” Sam replies. “HIPPA and everything.”

“Why not? Patients are allowed visitors in the ICU right? Even non-family ones.” 

“Well yeah, Dean, but those visitors are generally people the patient actually knows,” says Sam-the-know-it-all-lawyer.

Dean shrugs, “If she can’t, then I’ll just leave the glasses with her and she can pass them along, Sam. Not like it’s a big deal.” It’s _not_ a big deal, he tells himself firmly. There’s really no reason for him to see Cas again anyway, even if he is itching to check up on the guy. To see how he’s doing. It was a pretty goddamn bad accident after all.

Shaking his head, Dean continues his conversation with Sam. “Hey, since I’ll be in the city anyway, you want to grab lunch?” Sam and Jess live in Kansas City, since it’s closer to Jess’ hospital and Sam’s law firm, both of which are in the city as well. Overland Park is only about a twenty minute drive away, but life keeps all of them pretty busy and it’s easy to let weeks slip by without getting together. 

“Yeah, that’d be great,” Sam responds eagerly. 

Dean smiles. Even if he doesn’t get to see Cas again, Dean’ll take any excuse to hang out with his little brother.

* * *

The increase in Castiel’s pain meds plus the additional boost from his, “magic button,” definitely seem to be having an effect. Closing his eyes and leaning back against the comfort of his pillows, Castiel’s feeling pleasantly floaty. Gabriel’s taking a walk down to the cafeteria to grab some more coffee, so Castiel basks in the silence that follows in his brother’s wake. Quiet always seems somehow quieter after the jubilant noise that is Gabriel Milton. Castiel knows his current floatiness won’t last long and he’s determined to enjoy the brief respite from pain and rational thought while he can. 

He’s well on his way to a nap when he catches a warm, whiskey-rich voice that he’d never thought to hear again, coming from right outside his hospital room door. 

“Excuse me,” Dean greets the woman seated behind the desk at the nurses’ station, “Name’s Dean Winchester. I believe you have a patient here who was flown in from an MVA in Overland Park yesterday evening, Castiel Milton. I was one of the first responders on the scene last night and I recovered his glasses from his vehicle. I’d like to return them to him if I could.” Dean smiles charmingly at the nurse. 

Castiel notes the difference in Dean’s voice now from the intimate tone he remembers whispering “sweetheart” in his ear just yesterday. Dean sounds personable, but professional, the terminology of his field rolling off his tongue easily (and why is that so _hot?). _

“I’m afraid if Mr. Milton isn’t expecting you, I can’t let you in to see him,” begins the nurse, but Castiel is not about to let Dean the firefighter turn around and leave after this unexpected chance to see the man again. 

“Dean the firefighter,” Castiel calls out, then immediately curses himself for sounding like an idiot. Fucking floaty pain meds. Dean turns and brightens as he greets Castiel. 

“Heya Cas,” he says with a soft chuckle, “but just Dean’s fine. I save the full title for special occasions,” he quips with a wink. 

Castiel feels his mouth go dry. It might just be the pain killers affecting him, but that wink should be illegal, because he’s pretty sure the things it does to him are illegal in some corners of the world. Dean strides into Castiel’s room and stops next to his bed. 

“Found your glasses,” he says before handing them over. 

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel replies. “It’s been hell not being able to see anything. Everything beyond arm’s reach is an indistinct blur.” He pauses to put his glasses on, then his breath freezes in his throat as he sees Dean, fully in focus, for the first time. Castiel vaguely recalls having oddly poetic thoughts about Dean’s features when they met yesterday, but he had assumed they were a symptom of the trauma and shock of his accident; some kind of cross between a fantasy and a fever dream. 

He was wrong. So wrong.

Dean _Winchester_ (he now knows thanks to Dean’s professional introduction to the nurse, which is _still_ hot) is the most singularly attractive specimen Castiel has ever laid eyes upon. His short brown hair looks softer today than it did yesterday and his chin has an extra layer of stubble that only serves to highlight that strong jaw and the dusting of freckles across his nose that Castiel can see now, thanks to his augmented vision. The red flannel he wears over a worn AC/DC t-shirt does nothing to hide his broad chest and thick shoulders and the sight of muscled forearms peeking out from rolled up sleeves makes Castiel’s previously parched mouth water. And those green eyes are... _looking at him quizzically_. 

Of course they are, because Castiel’s been _staring_ at him, open-mouthed, for God-only-knows-how-long! _Fuck! Look away! Look away!_ Castiel snaps his jaw closed and ducks his head as he feels a furious blush begin to spread across his face.

Fortunately for Castiel, what shreds of dignity he has remaining to him are spared as Dean is distracted by the return of both Jessica and Gabriel, Jessica with a clipboard in her hand and Gabriel with a chocolate bar in his. 

“Oh, hey Dean!” says Jessica brightly, “Sam texted that you were on your way. That was nice of you to bring Castiel’s glasses by.” 

“No problem,” Dean shrugs and rubs the back of his neck. “Figured he’d appreciate being able to see what’s going on around here, well, except for the food. Don’t look at that too closely,” he jokes, shooting a sideways grin at Castiel, who just stares back dumbly. 

“You know Jessica?” he asks, completely unnecessarily, since it’s already beyond obvious that Dean does in fact, know his nurse. 

“She’s my nurse,” Castiel continues, because stating the blatantly obvious is apparently what he does now. 

“Gabriel thinks she’s pretty,” he adds, before turning to Jessica. _Oh God, why can’t he stop?!_

“If you’re single, you should date my brother. He’s an ass, but he’s a good big brother.”

_Shut up, shut up, shut up!_ As Castiel finally manages to STOP TALKING, Gabriel, in a demonstration of his total lack of shame, bursts into laughter while Dean and Jessica both look to be (very unsuccessfully) fighting grins. 

“It’s the pain meds,” Jessica whispers, voice shaking with barely contained laughter. 

Gabriel wipes his eyes and takes a breath, “First baby bro, thanks for the assist. But, how about we wait until you’re _not_ lying in a hospital bed before you play wingman.” 

“Plus,” Dean adds, “Jess here is actually engaged to _my_ baby brother, so short stack over there is gonna have to find his own pretty nurse.”

“And I think _that’s _my cue to leave,” announces Gabriel. “I need to check on the shop before I pick up the munchkin anyways. Make sure those damn hipster kids I employ don’t give away all my merchandise to their damn hipster friends.” 

Gabriel owns a bakery/café near campus. It’s primarily both run and frequented by college students and although he complains, Castiel knows that Gabriel really cares about his employees. He goes out of his way to work around their busy college schedules, even taking on extra shifts himself during finals season to make sure his regular employees have extra time to study and finish their end-of-term projects. 

“Castiel, give me a call tonight. I want to hear what the doctor has to say,” Gabriel says around a mouthful of what Castiel now realizes is _his_ favorite chocolate. 

His brother just shrugs at the glare Castiel sends his way.

“Hey, don’t give _me _the stink eye. I’m not the one who played chicken with an oncoming SUV. As soon as they let you start eating solid foods again, I’ll sneak you in a whole box of muffins from the shop. All your favorites. Scout’s honor.” He holds up his right hand with the pinky, ring, and index fingers extended, while the middle finger is held down by his thumb.

Castiel sighs.

“Gabriel, that’s the ‘shocker,’ not the Boy Scout’s oath.”

“Potato, poh-tah-to,” his older brother smirks.

Castiel rolls his eyes as Gabriel turns, bowing to Jessica and then nodding to Dean, “Unavailable-Pretty-Nurse. Totally-Random-Guy-I-Don’t-Know-But-Who-Cassie-Is-Going-To-Tell-Me-_All_-About-When-He-Calls-Tonight. A good day to you both.” Castiel rolls his eyes again as Gabriel sweeps dramatically from the room, tossing his wadded-up chocolate wrapper in the trash can by the door as he goes.

Jessica shakes her head with a smile and turns back toward the bed. 

“Castiel, I just came in to let you know I’ll be going on lunch in a few minutes. Just press your call button if you need anything and one of the other nurses will be in.”

“Thank you, Jessica. I... apologize for both my brother and my earlier comment.” Castiel says awkwardly, trying and failing to fight another blush. 

“Don’t worry about it. Really. I’ve heard far worse from people under the influence of pain meds. Actually, I’ve heard far worse from people_ not_ under the influence of pain meds. See you later, Dean!” Jessica smiles at Castiel and waves at her future brother-in-law as she exits the room with substantially less drama than Gabriel had. 

Castiel looks around and realizes suddenly that he’s once again alone with Dean. Dean seems to come to the same realization and shuffles his feet awkwardly. “So, Cas, how ya feelin’?”

Cas raises an eyebrow at Dean and, without thinking, responds flatly, “Like I was hit by an SUV.” Once again, Castiel is horrified at his sudden and appalling lack of social skills, but Dean just laughs. 

“I see you haven’t lost your sense of humor,” he says in an unknowing echo of Jessica’s earlier comment. 

Castiel grimaces, “I’m sorry Dean. My people skills appear to be rusty. I teach high school and sarcasm is a survival mechanism. It seems the pain meds I’m on have dissolved whatever filter I may have had.” 

Dean chuckles, “No need to use a filter with me. I’m not quite that delicate Cas.” 

_I’m sure you’re not_, thinks Castiel, then pauses to send a silent thank you out to the universe for _that_ thought staying in his head. 

The conversation lapses, but Castiel has apparently done something to earn the favor of the god of awkward silences, because he’s once again saved by someone entering the room. This time, it’s the same doctor he saw last night in the trauma bay. 

“Good morning Castiel. I’m Dr. Patel. We met yesterday evening. I’d like to take a few minutes to go over the results of your MRI from last night and talk about our next steps.” 

The doctor looks from Castiel to Dean and Castiel reassures him, “It’s okay. Dean can stay. If you want to,” he adds quickly, turning to Dean, “You don’t have to, of course. I’m sure you have things to do today and you’ve already gone above and beyond by returning my glasses.” 

Castiel’s babbling, but he can’t help it. He can’t ask any more of Dean, the man really has gone far beyond the call of duty for Castiel already, but he can’t help but hope Dean will stay. Jessica is on lunch and honestly, Castiel doesn’t want to be alone when he hears what the doctor has to say about his injuries and prognosis. 

Dean, apparently reading Castiel as easily today as he did in the SUV yesterday, simply nods and replies, “Sure I’ll stay, Cas.” 

Castiel lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and directs a weak, but grateful smile at Dean.

“Okay then,” begins Dr. Patel, raising his eyebrows at Castiel, “the short version is: You’re very broken.” 

Castiel huffs a relieved laugh in spite of himself. If the doctor’s making a joke, that has to mean he’s going to be okay, right?

“As I’m sure you’ve guessed, you have a shattered pelvis. Your pelvic ring is fractured in seven places, and when I say fractures, I mean complete fractures, not just cracks. You’ll definitely need surgery to repair it, but I’m not sure yet when that will be scheduled. Someone from Ortho will be in later to talk to you about it in more detail and we’ve sent your MRI images to Dr. Hawkins to review. He’s off today and tomorrow, but he’s one of our trauma orthopedic surgeons and he’ll probably be the one operating on you.”

Castiel nods and inhales shakily. His pelvis is broken into eight pieces. “Very broken,” indeed. 

He feels Dean place a hand on his shoulder and give it a gentle squeeze before the doctor continues, “You also have transverse process fractures on your L3, 4, and 5 vertebrae.” The doctor shows Castiel an image of his spine and indicates where the tips of tiny wing-like structures on his vertebrae have broken off. 

“There isn’t much we can do for those. They’ll heal on their own in time, but you may suffer residual back pain. Additionally, you have a broken rib on your right side, a splenic laceration (both of which will also heal on their own), and a perforated bladder.” The doctor pauses, giving Castiel a moment to process what he’s said so far. He can still feel the weight of Dean’s hand on his shoulder and internally thanks the man for his silent show of support.

“You said the broken rib and splenic laceration will heal on their own, but what about my bladder?” Castiel asks.

“That we’re not sure about yet. For now, we’re watching it to see if the bleeding will slow on its own. You’ve still got quite a bit of blood in your urine though,” Castiel winces at Dean hearing that, but the firefighter doesn’t bat an eyelash. Castiel figures the man must be used to this and worse with his job. “A member of our urology team will be checking in with your nurse throughout the day and they’ll decide if you’ll need to have your bladder repaired surgically as well.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows at the mention of more surgery, but the doctor is quick to reassure him, “We should be able to repair both your pelvis and bladder during the same surgery though, if it comes to that.”

Castiel lets his head fall back in relief at the (relatively) good news and Dean pats him on the shoulder before removing his hand. He fights a shiver at the sudden coolness where the warmth of Dean’s touch had been grounding him a moment before, just like his forehead against Castiel’s own underneath that white tarp in his wrecked SUV.

Distracted by the loss of Dean’s hand, it takes Castiel a moment to realize the doctor is moving to the door, preparing to leave.

“Thank you, Doctor,” he says seriously. 

The doctor nods politely before making his exit. 

Moving to sit on the edge of bed, where Castiel can see him without having to turn his head, Dean asks softly, “Are you all right?”

“It’s... a lot,” Castiel settles on after a moment.

Dean nods. He doesn’t tell Castiel not to worry or that it’ll be okay, which Castiel appreciates tremendously. Maybe it will be okay, eventually, but even though he hasn’t heard his full prognosis, he knows that eventually won’t be for quite some time yet. Lost in his own thoughts, Castiel stares speculatively at the stoic man seated across from him, who looks placidly back. He seems to be waiting for something. Castiel doesn’t know what that is, but suddenly, he does know what he needs to ask next. He swallows.

“Dean, the other driver...”

“She’s fine,” Dean responds confidently, before Castiel can finish his question. 

“You’re sure?” Castiel asks in a choked voice.

“Definitely. She was transported to KUMC’s Overland Park campus before we even had you out of the car, but that was mainly just a precaution. From what the guys told me later, she was more worried about you.”

Dean pauses and meets Castiel’s eyes, “She’s shaken up Cas, but she’s going to be fine.”

Castiel covers his face with his hands and sucks in a ragged breath. He hadn’t realized just how heavily that fear had been weighing on his mind. Now that it’s gone, the relief is dizzying. He takes a long moment to compose himself, then drops his hands and looks at Dean with wet eyes.

“Thank you,” he whispers.

One side of Dean’s mouth ticks up in soft half-smile.

“Anytime, Cas.”

* * *

Later that afternoon, after Dean has left to have lunch with his brother and work his shift at the fire station, Castiel loses himself in thoughts of the attractive firefighter. Yesterday, he’d mostly been focused on Dean’s eyes, his face, his voice. He’d found the man’s features pleasant, obviously, but in a distant way, the way one might admire a sunset. Today, with the never ceasing drone of pain muted, he is acutely aware of Dean’s broad shoulders, his flat stomach, and his shapely, slightly bowed legs... legs that would lock into place perfectly around Castiel’s waist.

Castiel huffs a slightly bitter laugh at himself. What is he thinking? He’s probably never even going to _see_ Dean again, let alone be in any kind of situation that might involve Dean wrapping himself around Castiel like a sex-starved octopus. For one thing, Castiel thinks sadly as he looks down to where his shattered pelvis is immobilized beneath his hospital blankets, it’s going to be a _very _long time before he’s able to even entertain the _idea_ of acrobatic cephalopod sex with _anyone,_ let alone Dean, who Castiel reminds himself, is almost certainly straight. The chances of handsome, charismatic, All-American, Kansas fireman Dean Winchester being attracted to men are slim to none. There’s a better chance of Charlie renouncing her Gryffindor House membership (and hardcore Hermione-crush) and defecting to Slytherin. 

It’s been a very long time since Castiel was so instantly attracted to someone though; not since, well, Bartholomew. _Look how that turned out_, he thinks forlornly. Besides, even if being with Dean _were _a possibility, Castiel has Claire and his job to think about. His life is more than full between the two and he simply doesn’t have time for anything (or _anyone_) else. He also can’t afford the distraction. He already let one moment of distraction nearly cost him everything. He won’t let that happen again. He _can’t._

Castiel is interrupted from his musings by the arrival of two more doctors to his ICU cubicle. Dr. Bower from orthopedics is a tall, outgoing woman with a lean, athletic build, golden skin, and long honey-colored hair. Castiel has heard that orthopedic surgeons (many of whom specialize in sports medicine and related injuries), are the jocks of the medical world, known for an overabundance of confidence bordering on arrogance and a less-than-warm bedside manner. Dr. Bower certainly fits the stereotype. She’s cordial but direct, clearly not one to sugar coat or beat around the bush. She goes over the injuries to Castiel’s pelvis again, confirming much of what Dr. Patel had explained earlier in the day. She tells Castiel that there are a couple of different methods for repairing a pelvic injury like his and that Dr. Hawkins, the trauma surgeon Dr. Patel had referenced earlier, would make the final decision as to which method will be used during Castiel’s procedure.

“What about my recovery?” Castiel asks. “Can you give me any idea of what to expect after the surgery?” 

“I’m sorry,” Dr. Bower explains, “the specifics of your recovery will really depend on which treatment method Dr. Hawkins decides on. He’ll be the best one to answer that question. You’ll see him Monday morning, before surgery.”

Castiel frowns. That’s another day and a half before he’ll have any definitive answers about his long-term prognosis, but unfortunately, there isn’t much more Dr. Bower can tell him.

In direct contrast to the athletic Dr. Bower, Dr. Phan from Urology is a short (only about 5’5”), thin, and pale man with dark circles hovering beneath his eyes and a warm but tired smile. He’s friendly and comforting, even though the news he has for Castiel isn’t what he’d hoped.

“I’ve conferred with your nurse, and it looks like the blood output in your urine isn’t decreasing.”

“What does that mean?” asks Castiel, even though he’s pretty sure he already knows, based on his earlier conversation with Dr. Patel.

“It means that the damage to your bladder isn’t healing on its own the way we had hoped it would,” he explains, “at least not quickly enough. We’ll have to go in and cauterize the wounds surgically. On the bright side, we’ll work with our friends in Orthopedics here so that we can sneak in during their OR time and get you all fixed up with one surgery.” 

Castiel smiles inwardly at Dr. Phan’s description of the “friendship” between Urology and Orthopedics, amused despite the news of additional surgical procedures. He wonders if the other surgeons in their specialties resemble Dr. Bower and Dr. Phan. If so, putting the two departments side-by-side would be like standing the Varsity lettermen next to the chess club.

The doctors excuse themselves and Castiel spends most of the afternoon drifting in and out of a pain medicine-induced sleep, until it’s time to call Gabriel that evening. He relays everything he’d heard from his ever-expanding team of doctors that day and Gabe makes plans to take Monday off from the shop so he can be at the hospital for Castiel’s surgery. Gabriel tries to get Claire to “talk” to Daddy on the phone, but when the 8-month-old just seems confused by the sound of Castiel’s disembodied voice on the speakerphone, they give up and Castiel thanks Gabe again before disconnecting the call. He falls asleep some time later, lost in melancholy thoughts of green eyes and trying to remember the sound of his baby girl laughing.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well friends, what did you think? 
> 
> Fun fact: My ICU nurse's name actually was Jessica. And I actually did try to hook her up with a friend who visited me in the ICU. I was EVERY BIT as blunt and awkward as Cas is in this chapter. And I'm not sorry about any of it. XD
> 
> I do, however, hereby dedicate this chapter to Jessica, the very kind and very patient ICU nurse.
> 
> Next chapter: Surgery and another rescue, of a sort.


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Friends!
> 
> Thanks to everyone for your kind words about Chapter 2! I'm so thrilled that so many are loving this story already. I hope Chapter 3 doesn't disappoint!
> 
> A couple of chapter warnings in end notes. Please take a look if there's anything in the tags that might be triggering for you.

** _Sunday, September 9, 2018 – Monday, September 10, 2018_ **

Castiel’s second full day in the ICU passes much like his first, but without the pleasant distractions of Gabriel’s antics or Dean’s bow legs. He’s visited by doctors from Trauma, Orthopedics, and Urology again, although none of them have anything new to report. He gets one more MRI (to get a look at things now that the initial swelling has gone down) and is told that he might get to enjoy a liquid dinner this evening before he’s cut off from food again after midnight, in preparation for surgery. On the bright side, Castiel is pleased to see that his nurse for the day is Jessica again. 

“I work four days on, three off,” she explains, “so with any luck, you’ll be shipping out of here before me! As long as you recover okay after your surgery tomorrow, we should be able to move you into a regular room sometime tomorrow night.”

Castiel knows this is meant to be encouraging, but he can’t help but feel a sense of trepidation at Jessica’s words. The ICU has become familiar in the short amount of time he’s spent here and he’s reluctant to leave the safety of the peaceful floor. He knows that he won’t receive the same level of attention on a regular hospital floor, where nurses have a caseload of patients to move between instead of sitting right outside the doors of just one or two. 

Despite his unease, the day passes quickly. He’s unable to stomach more than a quarter of his soup, not feeling hungry in the slightest despite the fact that he hasn’t eaten anything in more than 48 hours, but Jessica brings him a latte from the Starbucks downstairs before heading out at the end of her shift (this is why she’s his favorite nurse) and he drinks almost half. _Damn_, he’s missed coffee! Food is one thing, but life without coffee is a fate unimaginable.

Before he knows it, the evening has passed and he’s slipped into another night of drug-induced slumber. He’s awoken the morning of his surgery by the soft voices of Jessica and his night shift nurse as they talk about whatever it is nurses talk about during shift change. 

“Good morning,” chirps always-cheerful Jessica. 

Castiel glares at her in return. Morning people aren’t to be trusted.

Jessica just laughs at him in response, “And how’s my favorite grumpy patient this morning? Ready for surgery?”

“As ready as I’ll ever be considering I still haven’t talked to the surgeon.” He narrows his eyes at her, “And aren’t I your only patient right now?”

“Lucky for you,” she quips back. “Why do you think you’re my favorite?”

Castiel grins. 

Shooting him an answering smile, Jessica continues, “Doctor Hawkins is here, but he’s already downstairs prepping for surgery. He wanted you on the schedule first thing this morning, but he said he’ll meet us outside the OR.”

Castiel nods and soon he’s prepped for surgery and Jessica is walking next to his ICU bed as the entire thing is wheeled toward the elevator that will take them to the surgical floor. Seeing Castiel’s tension increase with each step they travel toward the OR, she reaches over and pats his arm.

“I’ll be with you the whole time,” she says reassuringly, “and when you wake up you’ll be back in the ICU.”

Castiel smiles his appreciation as the elevator doors open and he’s wheeled into the corridor between the operating theatres and the OR waiting room. He smiles again to see Gabriel leaning against one wall.

“Hey Cassie!” Gabriel greets cheerfully as he strolls up to the gurney. “So, any ideas on how they’re gonna fix you up in there?”

“The doctor’s supposed to meet us before I go into surgery,” Castiel responds with a shrug.

“Maybe they’ll give you a bionic pelvis,” Gabriel grins wickedly. “Just _think _of the possibilities!”

Castiel rolls his eyes affectionately as his older brother gives his hand a final squeeze and steps back so that Castiel can be rolled through the metal doors that lead into the area off-limits to family and friends. Once the heavy doors close behind them, Castiel looks up to see a _very_ tall African-American man dressed in green surgical scrubs and cap. 

“Good morning,” he intones in a deep voice, “I’m Doctor Hawkins and I’ll be your surgeon today.”

After Castiel returns his greeting, Dr. Hawkins briefly outlines the surgical procedure he plans to use with Castiel. He’ll be implanting a number of permanent screws along with a stabilizing bar called and internal fixator or “INFIX,” that will need to be removed via a much shorter surgical procedure in a few months. Today’s operation, including both the pelvic and bladder repairs, should take about eight to ten hours. 

Castiel swallows down his nerves at the thought of being under anesthesia for that long and asks the doctor the question that’s been at the forefront of his mind for the past two days.

“What will my recovery look like, long-term?”

“Well, you’ll be non-weight bearing for about the first three months, so you’ll need to use a wheelchair during that time. After you leave here, you’ll probably have a brief stay in a rehabilitation hospital before you head home and you’ll need physical and occupational therapy from a home healthcare service then. As long as your pelvis looks adequately healed at your twelve week post-op follow up, you’ll be able to start taking steps with a walker. It’ll be about six months before you’re able to function fairly normally, but even then you’ll still be very aware of your injury. Most of my patients report that it takes about a year before they feel fully recovered. You will make a full recovery though,” he emphasizes.

With each sentence, Castiel’s panic increases. His heart rate jumps and he can feel his eyes threatening to spill over with goddamn tears again. He’d known he was seriously injured, but a part of him had hoped the surgery would be the worst of it. That it would _fix him_. But of course, that was ridiculous. There’s no such thing as a quick fix when one tries to play chicken with a 2,000lb. vehicle travelling at 50 miles an hour. But a _wheelchair_. How, how is he going to take care of himself? More importantly, how is he going to take care of Claire? He won’t even be able to get her in and out of her crib for the next three months!

Seeing his distress, Jessica moves to his side and takes his shaking hand in hers, squeezing comfortingly. She remains silent, but her eyes are locked on the doctor. It’s a good thing looks can’t actually kill, because as heartwarming as Jessica’s empathetic fury is, he actually needs this asshole to put his jigsaw puzzle of a pelvis back together... with metal bars and screws, like he’s a goddamn cabinet.

After the doctor turns and heads into the OR, Jessica turns to lock eyes with Castiel.

“Are you okay?” she whispers.

He nods and offers her a weak smile. “I’m fine,” he says. He can tell she doesn’t believe him, but she moves back, still holding his hand, as the anesthesiologist steps up to take Dr. Hawkins’ place. After a quick word from her, Castiel is wheeled into the OR and asked to take deep breaths and count backward from 100 as a mask is placed over his face. He complies and slips under, Jessica’s hand still clasped in his own.

* * *

**_Monday, September 10, 2018_ **

Dean lasts until lunchtime Monday before deciding to go see Cas. Normally, he enjoys the couple of days he gets off from the station each week, but this week he’s restless. Over the past 36 hours, he’s changed Baby’s oil and given her a thorough (but mostly unnecessary) detailing, cleaned his entire apartment, done all his laundry, baked two pies (because pies should always come in pairs), and reorganized his DVD collection. Not scheduled for a shift again until Wednesday, Dean still has another day and a half to fill. Despite his determined attempts at distraction, his mind keeps wandering to chaotic dark hair, chapped pink lips, and tearful blue eyes. The sight of Cas, lying all alone in that hospital room as Dean left for his lunch with Sam Saturday afternoon had made his heart ache in his chest. He knew that Cas’ brother, _Gabe_ he remembers, would have Claire all weekend, making it unlikely that he’d be able to visit. The thought of Cas spending Sunday alone, counting down the hours to such a serious and intensive surgery by himself had eaten at him for the rest of the weekend, but he stayed away, uncertain if his presence would be welcome. 

After all, what is he to Cas? Are they friends? He barely knows the guy. Sure, Cas had seemed relieved when Dean offered to stay during his discussion with the trauma doc, but no one wants to be on their own when they get major medical news like that, right? It didn’t _mean_ anything. It sure as hell didn’t mean what Dean was absolutely _not_ hoping it meant. Cas is seriously injured, for Christ’s sake. He’s spent the past two days lying in a hospital bed, unable to move because his chassis is cracked, no not cracked, _broken_ into eight fucking pieces. The last thing he needs is some skeevy guy drooling all over him. But maybe, Dean bites his lower lip, maybe he could use a friend? Besides, it’s not like he even knows if Cas is into guys. In this area, the odds aren’t in Dean’s favor. 

Unfortunately, Dean’s libido isn’t impressed by such logic. It doesn’t help that in addition to being drop dead _gorgeous, _the sight of Cas in those black rimmed glasses and his confession that he _teaches high school for fuck’s sake, _have reignited every “hot for teacher” fantasy Dean’s ever had... all now starring stubble, sex hair, and clear blue eyes. 

Dean looks at the clock. It’s 12:45 now. If Cas went into surgery first thing this morning, he’s probably still got a few hours left until his procedure is over, then he’ll spend an hour or two in recovery before being wheeled back to his room. Dean decides he’ll wait and have an early dinner before heading up to the hospital to see Cas. Sure, he could always wait until Jess’ shift is over tonight and talk her into spilling about how Cas’s surgery went (HIPPA be damned), but he has an almost burning desire to see the man and make sure he’s really okay for himself. Besides, visiting someone in the hospital after surgery is something a friend would do, right?

Satisfied with his decision, Dean walks back into his living room. He’d noticed yesterday that his bookshelf could use a little reorganizing.

* * *

Dean fidgets nervously in the corridor outside the large doors leading into the ICU. He knows Cas isn’t back from recovery yet and the longer he waits here, the more uncertain he starts to feel. Sure, visiting a friend in the hospital after surgery might be a normal thing to do, but _right_ after surgery? Will Cas even want to see anyone that soon after or would he rather be alone? Or would he just not want to see _Dean? _Will Cas be creeped out that Dean keeps showing up in his hospital room like some goddamn stray in need of a home?

_You’re pathetic Winchester_. Dean chides himself. He’s here now and the ICU nurses have already seen him through the doors. If he turns tail and runs away now, without even _trying _to see Cas, he’ll look like an even bigger loser than he does pacing this hallway. If the man doesn’t want to be bothered, Dean will just send his best wishes wish Jessica and get the hell out of Dodge. Dean runs a hand through his short, spiky hair on a sigh and rubs the back of his neck, looking up when he hears the ding of the nearby elevator. Cas’ brother Gabriel steps out of the elevator, looking surprised to see Dean for a moment, then rearranging his features in a smirk that manages to look both amused... and a little dangerous. Dropping his hand by his side, Dean narrows his eyes slightly at the older man’s approach.

“Dean-o.” Gabriel claps a hand on Dean’s bicep. “Good to see you again!”

Dean frowns and looks pointedly at where the shorter man’s palm is resting on his arm. Gabriel drops his hand.

“You here to deliver personal effects to more accident victims or is there a kitten stranded up an IV pole somewhere around here?” asks Gabriel with a (mostly) friendly smile. 

“I was in the area and thought I’d stop by to see how Cas’ surgery went,” explains Dean, fighting the sudden blush that threatens to overtake his face. “He seemed pretty nervous about it when I saw him on Saturday.”

“Mmm,” agrees Gabriel noncommittally. He looks at Dean shrewdly for a moment and narrowing his eyes, asks suddenly, “Is this the part where I ask what your intentions are toward my little brother?”

Dean splutters.

“Intentions? I don’t have _intentions, _man!”

_Liar! _Dean’s inner monologue accuses unhelpfully, the traitorous bastard.

Gabe eyes him skeptically as Dean searches for what he wants to say.

“Look, I know I don’t know you guys, but what I _do_ know is that if it was _me_ lying in that bed, between my family, my adopted family, and the guys down at the station, I’d have to call security to throw people out of my room just to get damn moment’s peace!”

Dean sighs before continuing, “So far, all Cas seems to have is you and I’m not knocking you or anything, but I know you’re having to divide your time between being here for him and taking care of his daughter. So, I dunno man, I just thought,” Dean hesitates, “maybe he could use a friend.” He looks down at his feet as he finishes, avoiding Gabriel’s eyes.

Gabe releases a tired sigh. “Well, you’re not wrong about that,” he says with uncharacteristic softness. 

“Look. Cassie,” Dean looks up as Gabe pauses a moment, “The kid’s had a rough go of it lately, even _before_ the accident. He can be a stubborn bastard and he’s not one for letting people in on a _good_ day. God knows he’s got good reason,” Gabe adds with a wince, an unreadable expression crossing his face like a passing cloud. 

Dean shoots him a questioning look that Gabe returns with an even stare.

“The man’s had enough assholes in his life abandon him and not look back,” he spits bitterly, “so if you’re serious about wanting to be his ‘friend,’ you better be in this for the long haul.”

“I’ve never left anyone behind in my life,” Dean replies honestly. “I don’t plan to start now.”

Gabe’s eyes search Dean’s for a long moment. Seemingly satisfied with what he sees there, he nods.

At the sound of movement down the hall, both men turn to see a team of nurses and orderlies rolling a groggy Cas toward them, Jess at the lead.

“Hey boys,” she greets, then looks to Cas, “Look at that, Castiel, your own welcoming committee!” 

Feeling suddenly exposed after his heart-to-heart with Gabriel, Dean steps back to give the two brothers some space. Gabe walks at Cas’ side and the two disappear along with Jess into Cas’ ICU room. 

A few minutes later, Gabe steps out and shoots an apologetic look at Dean. “He’s out again,” he explains, “He was only awake for a couple of minutes, but he said to thank you for checking on him.”

Gabe hesitates, then, seeming to come to a decision, he pushes on, “He said you didn’t need to stay, but I’ve gotta go pick up Claire and...”

Gabriel trails off and Dean jumps in, “I don’t have anywhere to be. I don’t mind sticking around for a bit.”

Looking relieved, Gabe nods his thanks and runs a tired hand over his face as he turns to leave. Dean’s hit with the sudden realization that Gabe just spent the entire day _alone_ in a waiting room while his brother underwent life-saving surgery. Cas isn’t the only one here lacking a support system.

“Gabe,” he calls out as the other man starts walking away. 

Gabe stops and turns back toward Dean, one eyebrow cocked in a questioning expression.

“Look, all this shit,” Dean gestures expansively to the ICU and the hospital at large, “it can be just as hard on the people taking care of someone who’s sick or hurt as it is on the person that needs care.” Dean definitely knows something about that.

He meets Gabe’s eyes and holds them as he adds, “You don’t have to do it alone.”

The corner of Gabe’s mouth quirks up in a tired smirk. “Think I’m starting to get that Dean-o,” he says before turning and leaving the ICU with only a fraction of his normal flair.

* * *

Slowly, Castiel becomes aware of the noises of the ICU around him. The steady, quiet beeps and whirs of the various monitors and machines surround him, accompanied by hushed voices filtering in from the halls. The blankets of his hospital bed are tucked in around him. Feeling overly warm, he shifts to pull his arms out from under the covers, but nothing happens. Confused, Castiel moves his arms again, but again, his arms fail to move. Concern growing, he opens his eyes, only to find that like his arms, his eyes are apparently on strike.

_Castiel feels the shift as the room begins to lazily spin. **No.** What’s he thinking? Rooms don’t spin._

The room stops spinning. 

_Before he has time to experience relief, Castiel feels his body moving forward, sliding from his hospital bed._

**_No._** Castiel feels the hospital bed firmly beneath him, blankets tucked around his body.

_The blankets are chains, thick, weighty, and steadily getting heavier, pulling him down through the mattress, dragging him under the waves._

**_No!_**He’s in the University of Kansas Medical Center, in the ICU. He’s just had surgery. Then Castiel knows. This is a dream, but it’s a waking dream. He really is in his hospital bed. He really is hearing the sounds of the ICU around him. Nothing else is real. He just needs to wake up.

_He’s moving faster now. Sliding, falling, rushing forward at roller coaster speeds. Light begins to flicker around him, like flames dancing against the shadowed walls of his eyelids._

In the ICU, Castiel hears voices lifted in greeting, “Hey you! Sleeping beauty in there’s still out cold.”

**_Wake up._ **

“Yeah, I figured he would be.”

** _Goddamn you, wake up!_ **

“I’m off till Wednesday and Gabe had to get back to pick up Claire, so I thought I’d hang around until he wakes up.”

_The chains turn into hands. He’s being carried on hundreds of grasping, clawing hands. Putrid and rotting, the hands of the damned._

Thrashing in his mind, but knowing his body is lying utterly still on the bed in his hospital room, Castiel strains against the imaginary hands holding him, fighting fruitlessly to open impossibly heavy eyelids.

_Colors spark behind his eyelids, rushing one after another. Muddy browns and oranges, the rust red of dried blood, the sickly yellows and greens of flesh bruised and diseased. Dizzying. Nauseating. _

Terror rises up in Castiel as the hospital room slips further away. A scream lodges itself in his throat, trapped in this nightmare just as he is.

_The voices from before turn cruel in the darkness of his mind. Twisted and mocking. Skeletal hands slither around his limbs, pulling him ever downward._

_He descends into hell._

A boisterous laugh cuts through the fog of Castiel’s dream-riddled mind. He knows that laugh.

** _Dean._ **

Dean is there, outside his hospital room in the ICU. It was Dean’s voice he heard chatting with the nurses. 

_The hands continue to pull at him, wrapping around his middle now, but he latches onto Dean’s voice._

If he can’t open his eyes, maybe he can make a noise. If he’s loud enough, Dean will hear him. He’ll come into Castiel’s room and wake him from this hellish nightmare. Dean will save him. He’s saved Castiel before, after all.

Willing his vocal chords to cooperate, Castiel struggles to make a noise, any noise. 

** _Hear me. You have to hear me!_ **

Castiel whimpers. Once. Twice. Again. Each time a little louder than the last. 

Suddenly he hears Dean’s voice again, closer this time, “Cas, buddy, wake up. Cas, can you hear me?”

_Castiel strains to answer Dean. The hands cover his mouth, choking him._

“Jess, get in here! Something’s wrong. I can’t wake him up!”

“Castiel? Can you hear me?” Jess’ voice joins Dean’s.

_The groping hands turn desperate, clutching at him. Digging into skin and muscle._

Castiel moans, so close to victory. So close to defeat.

_Writhing, he drags his consciousness free of the grasping hands, pulling himself toward a distant light. _

** _Dean._ **

“Come on Cas! You can do it. Open your eyes.”

_Stay with me, Sweetheart._

* * *

Without warning, Cas’ eyes surge open and lock onto Dean’s: wide, blue, and terrified. His arm shoots up from beneath the blankets, long fingers wrapping around Dean’s left bicep in a bruising grip. That’s sure to leave a mark later, but Dean barely notices.

“There you are,” he whispers in relief, searching Cas’ eyes and feeling even more relieved to see recognition there. Even as he thinks it though, Cas’s breathing goes ragged and he struggles to pull in air. The heart monitor to the side of Cas’ bed starts beeping loudly and rapidly as his pulse spikes.

“Jess,” Dean calls without looking away from Cas. He stares into those frightened blue eyes helplessly.

A doctor Dean doesn’t know moves in to shine a light into Cas’ eyes and check his vitals. Dean drops his right hand from where he had been gripping Cas’ shoulder in his attempts to shake him awake, giving the doctor space to work, but he doesn’t move away. Cas’ hold on his arm has him locked in an uncomfortable position: seated on the side of Cas’ bed with his right leg bent and pulled up on the bed so he can face the man, hovering awkwardly over him. He refuses to shake off Cas’ hand to find a more comfortable position, however. He still can’t bring himself to even break eye contact with the guy, as if he can anchor Cas there with his eyes alone and _fuck_, maybe he can. Cas is looking at him as if Dean is his lifeline, his salvation, and it would leave Dean breathless if he weren’t pretty sure he’d already stopped breathing in those first few moments when he couldn’t wake Cas.

“It’s a panic attack,” announces the nameless doctor and a heartbeat later Jess cuts in.

“He already has an order for Diazapam,” says Jess. “I have it here.”

Dean takes a moment to be grateful for his awesome sister-in-law-to-be.

The doctor nods the go ahead and Jess administers the medication through Cas’ IV.

“There,” she says. “It should begin to ease his symptoms in a moment.”

Slowly, so slowly, Cas’ breathing starts to even out and his grip on Dean’s arm relaxes until his hand drops listlessly to his side.

“How’d he go into a panic attack,” Dean asks, looking from Jess to the doctor. “He was asleep!”

It’s Cas, apparently recovered enough for speech, who answers. “It was a lucid dream,” he whispers roughly. “I could feel hands pulling me, dragging me down,” he shudders, “and I could hear you all here in the room, but I couldn’t wake up.” 

Dean reaches for Cas’s hand on the bed and gives it a silent squeeze. Cas gives him a weak, but heartfelt look of gratitude.

“Thank you,” he says seriously, “for waking me.”

“Of course, man,” Dean whispers.

Forty minutes later, after Cas’ repeated assurances of, “I’ll be fine, Dean. Really,” Dean rounds on his soon-to-be little sister by the nurse’s station in the center of the ICU.

“How can they be moving him out of the ICU already? The guy just had a trippy, hallucinogenic-nightmare-induced panic attack for fuck’s sake!”

“And now he’s calm and all of his vitals are stable, Dean,” Jess explains patiently. “A panic attack isn’t cause for staying in the ICU. There are patients far more critical than Castiel who are waiting for beds.”

Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “Where the fuck did that dream even come from?” he asks. “What the hell did they give him in that OR anyway?”

“Nothing that would have caused a reaction like that under normal circumstances,” Jess assures, “but he was under for a long time, Dean. Plus, he’s been through a serious trauma. We can’t always predict how the brain is going to respond to something like that.”

Dean sighs. He knows she’s right, but he still doesn’t like that they’re kicking Cas out of the ICU so soon after that attack. Worse, it’s late enough now that by the time they get Cas moved into his new room, visiting hours will be over and Dean won’t be able to stay with him any longer. Cas is putting on a brave face, but Dean can tell the man’s nervous about leaving the ICU.

Knowing there’s nothing more he can do here, and already having said goodbye to Cas (just for the evening this time, Dean promised to visit again tomorrow), Dean makes his way to the Impala. He’d worked nights last week, so this week he’ll be back on days starting Wednesday. That means going home and trying to get a decent night’s rest tonight, so he won’t spend all day Wednesday cursing his past self. He scoffs. Fat chance of that after the scare Cas just gave him. And that nightmare... Dean shivers as he unlocks Baby’s door and slides into the driver’s seat. As he reaches for the seatbelt behind him (yeah, he knows after-market seatbelts aren’t exactly keeping with the 1967 aesthetic, but come on, he’s a _firefighter_ for Christ’s sake. He’s _seen _what can happen in car accidents without proper restraints and no thank you very much), Dean winces at a twinge in his shoulder. Angling the rearview mirror so he can see his own reflection, he rolls up his left shirt sleeve and his eyebrows shoot up. 

_Well, shit. _

Where Cas had clutched his left arm like a drowning man, five narrow bruises line his bicep in the perfect impression of long, slender fingers.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: Surgery, lucid nightmare, panic attack
> 
> I hope you enjoyed the chapter! Let me know what you thought about that dream scene in the comments! 
> 
> Next week: We get to meet some old friends, Dean is not gonna be that guy, and more fun with floaty, pain med Cas!


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets a couple of special visitors and makes an important discovery about our favorite fire fighter.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi Everyone!
> 
> Thank you for your kindness and comments on Chapter 3! You get this chapter a day early because I'll be spending tomorrow at Ren Fest with my family. Had to miss it last year on account of still being in the hospital, so I'm looking forward to it. 
> 
> This is one of my favorite chapters (probably won't be the last chapter I say that about, to be perfectly honest XD ), so I hope you enjoy it!
> 
> No chapter warnings this week, so read on!

** _Thursday, September 13, 2018_ **

“Special delivery for one blue-eyed dreamboat in room 304!”

Castiel grins as he watches his best friend barrel into his hospital room, staggering a bit under the weight of a large, clear plastic bin laden with what must be gifts for Castiel, all in various shades of yellow. Floating above the bin and partially obscuring Charlie’s bright eyes and fiery hair are a bouquet of mylar balloons, in the same cheery color scheme. Charlie beams at him from between a round balloon emblazoned with the words, “Get well!” and a smiling yellow and orange sun.

“What’s up buttercup?” she greets cheerily, huffing a breath as she heaves the tub of goodies onto Castiel’s rolling bedside table.

“What’s all this?” he asks, gesturing at the overflowing bin between them.

“Just bringing you a little sunshine from all your friends at Shawnee Mission North,” she chirps happily. “Check it out!”

Castiel begins removing items from the bin, all carefully selected to match the “sunshine” theme while still being something he might actually find a use for while in the hospital. He finds a journal with an embossed golden sun on the front, crosswords and sudoku books obviously chosen for their yellow covers, lemon zinger tea with lemon crème cookies, Lays potato chips in their classic yellow bag, an assortment of Burt’s Bees lip balms and hand creams, fuzzy socks in a soft buttercream, and even a yellow whoopie cushion. When he quirks an eyebrow at Charlie in response to the whoopie cushion, she shrugs.

“Gabe wanted to contribute.” 

Castiel rolls his eyes and continues exploring the gift basket. His eyes tear up when he realizes they’ve even included items for Claire. Sunny hair bows are nestled against a soft, buttery baby blanket and a tiny, sunflower-covered dress. Castiel smiles warmly at Charlie when he discovers the bumblebee onesie with matching tutu accompanying a jar of his favorite local honey, knowing they must be from her. She knows about his fondness for bees.

“Charlie,” he says, a little choked up in spite of himself, “this is...”

“Wait,” she says softly, “you haven’t seen the best part.” She hands him a stack of cards, all with yellow envelopes, of course. They’re get well cards, one from each of his classes, with signatures and messages from all of his students relaying a chorus of get-well-soons, we-miss-yous, and even a begrudging, “You make reading stuff written by a bunch of dead white guys okay, I guess,” from Krissy Chambers, who Castiel had last year for English 9 and was scheduled to teach again this year in his 4th period English 10 class. The bottom card is perhaps the one that surprises Castiel the most. It’s from the staff of Shawnee Mission North and nearly every member is accounted for, even Mr. Walker, and Castiel takes a moment to wonder how Charlie accomplished _that. _His best friend is a force of nature.

Truly touched, Castiel looks up to see Charlie watching him with a tremulous smile and suspiciously glassy eyes. 

“Oh, Charlie,” he says softly, reaching out with both arms to this tiny tornado of a woman who had taken him in and befriended him without hesitation at a time in his life when he had never felt more alone.

“Cas,” she gasps wetly, throwing her slender arms around him and burying her face in his neck. Castiel feels the wetness of her tears against his skin and squeezes her tightly before pulling back and cupping her face in his hands, rubbing a thumb across one damp cheek. 

“Charlie, I’m okay,” he says reassuringly, then rolls his eyes at her clearly disbelieving look. “Okay, maybe I’m not okay right _now_, but I will be,” he promises. 

“I’m sorry I didn’t visit sooner,” Charlie starts, “but...”

“But you’ve been spending all of your spare time helping my brother care for Claire so _he_ can be here,” Castiel finishes for her. “Charlie, I can’t ever thank you enough for what you’ve done. Claire,” his voice breaks and he takes a moment to compose himself before continuing, “She’s the most important thing in the world to me and knowing that she’s safe and surrounded by people who love her even though I can’t be there... that’s everything.”

“You know, there are lots of people who would love you both if you’d just let them, Castiel.” She glances at the opened cards sitting on the bedside table, “A lot of people who already do.”

Attempting to lighten the mood, Castiel lifts one eyebrow and asks wryly, “Dare I inquire about the health of our esteemed physical education teacher?”

Wiping her eyes, Charlie scoffs quietly before shooting Castiel a slightly feral grin. “He’s fine,” she says dismissively. “It’s nothing he won’t recover from,” she adds with a triumphant gleam in her eye.

“More’s the pity,” Castiel replies with his own grin. 

The mood successfully lightened, they move on to less serious topics. Charlie regales Castiel with stories of her students and their “hormone-fogged brain spaces.” She smiles proudly as she tells Castiel that a group of students successfully applied to start Shawnee Mission North’s first Gender and Sexualities Alliance Club, asking her to be their sponsor. Castiel grimaces though when he learns who the school found to act as a long-term sub in his classroom while he’s on medical leave. 

“It’s Marv,” she says apologetically. Marv certainly knows his material when it comes to English literature, but the man is a giant “douche nozzle,” as Gabriel would say. He loves nothing more than the sound of his own voice and even Castiel finds his eyes glazing over if he’s forced to listen to the man for more than a few minutes at a time. 

“It could be worse,” Charlie consoles. At his incredulous looks she adds, “Before Marv said yes, they were thinking about bringing in Frank.” Castiel’s eyes widen and he groans. A year with Frank Devereaux and his students wouldn’t come out knowing a thing about the works of William Shakespeare, but they would be jumping at shadows and looking for spies of the New World Order (run by a powerful conglomerate of black-sludge-filled-monsters, because traditional conspiracy theories just aren’t good enough for Frank) around every corner. Yes, Marv is definitely the lesser of two very depressing evils here.

After they spend more time reminiscing and laughing together at the cute selfies Charlie took of her and Claire using various Snapchat filters (Claire was a big fan of the puppy filter, Charlie reports), her expression turns somber again. “Are you really okay though? _Here?” _she asks, gesturing around the tiny room. 

Castiel reflects on her question, tilting his head. In truth, he’d been anxious at first about his move out of ICU and into his room on the hospital’s trauma floor. In addition to losing his magic pain buzzer and being stepped down to scheduled pain meds, Castiel had known that he wouldn’t receive the same level of attention he’d been accustomed to in the ICU. The room they had moved him to was private, yes, but it was even smaller than his ICU room and had only one tiny window. The room was also awkwardly shaped. The small bathroom was directly to the right of the door and was built into the room, so that one had to walk past the bathroom to see the nook where Castiel’s bed was postioned. This meant that passers-by couldn’t see Castiel if they glanced in, but it also blocked Castiel’s view out his door. Of course, that would only really matter if Castiel’s door were open to begin with, but since the hospital was currently renovating the rooms across the hall, his door was typically left shut to block out the construction noise. The door to his ICU room had always been open and the windowed wall had let him see into the open space of the ICU. The ICU itself was more of a circle than a hallway, the individual patient rooms wrapping around the large, open nurse’s station. Castiel’s current room, with its dingy off-white walls, feels almost claustrophobic in comparison.

He also finds himself missing the frequent visits of Jess and the other nurses. The nurses on his floor are very nice, but they have caseloads of patients to care for, instead of just one or two. This means that unless it’s time for his meds, shift change, or he presses his call button for something, Castiel is generally left to his own devices. He finds himself craving human interaction in a way that surprises him, since he’s not usually one to actively seek out other people. But then, he reflects, he doesn’t usually _need _to. Any of Castiel’s time that’s not spent with his students or colleagues is filled with Claire. 

Pushing his thoughts away from that melancholy detour, Castiel focuses on the positive. His situation isn’t all bad. Gabriel visits as frequently as he can, and of course, there’s Dean. Dean has visited twice more since Castiel left the ICU three days ago. Castiel has given up being confused over the firefighter’s sudden and persistent presence in his life and instead feels grateful for it. In the space of those visits, he’s learned that in addition to being kind to strangers he finds trapped in vehicles, Dean is witty and charming. He likes classic rock, classic cars, and classic pies, though not necessarily in that order. He prefers the original Star Trek and Next Generation over Star Wars but _Star Wars_ over Deep Space Nine and Voyager, although he acknowledges that, “Janeway was one badass lady,” (“We don’t talk about that, Cas” he’d admonished somberly when Castiel had asked, “What about Enterprise?”) and his favorite authors are Vonnegut and Kerouac. The latter discovery had prompted an impassioned discussion over which was Vonnegut’s best work: _Cat’s Cradle_ or _Slaughterhouse-Five_. Dean argued vehemently in favor of _Slaughterhouse_, but admitted to having a soft spot for the lesser known, _The Sirens of Titan_. When Castiel confessed he’d not read that one, Dean had shaken his head in mock indignation, “And you call yourself an English teacher!” and promised to bring him his copy. 

“Cas?” Charlie prompts hesitantly, pulling Castiel back to the present moment.

“I’m not great,” he answers her honesty, “but it’s not nearly as bad it could be. Gabriel visits when he can... and I seem to have made a new friend.” He’s almost certainly going to regret this, as it’s sure to give Charlie _ideas,_ but he has to admit that he’s been longing to talk about Dean to _somebody _and his best options are currently hopeless romantic and self-proclaimed super hacker (whatever that is, Charlie assures him he doesn’t need to know) Charlie Bradbury, or Gabriel (the horror of which actually makes him shudder). Reluctantly, he tells Charlie all about Dean, careful not to use the firefighter’s name. Not only would the well-intentioned computer science teacher stalk all of Dean’s social media accounts, she’d probably also manage to obtain a full background check and a copy of his credit report. Castiel _will not_ allow Dean’s privacy to be violated that way.

Predictably, Charlie squeals when Castiel recounts Dean’s words to him while he was under that tarp in his SUV. “He actually called you _sweetheart?” _ She shoves his shoulder, then shoots him a dirty look when Castiel grabs his bruised ribs in mock-pain. 

“Is he dreamy? I bet he’s dreamy,” she continues wistfully.

Castiel chuckles, “Yes, he’s good looking.”

She raises an eyebrow at him critically.

“Very good looking?” Castiel tried again.

Charlie crosses her arms, pinning him with the same I-can-do-this-all-day look that she uses on recalcitrant students and, sometimes, fellow staff members (actually, _that’s _probably how she got Walker to sign that card) at their high school.

Castiel sighs, defeated. “He’s the most singularly attractive man I’ve ever seen in real life,” he admits to his best friend. “Not only is he ‘dreamy,’ Charlie,” he says, ignoring her eye roll at his air quotes, “he is _the stuff dreams are made of.”_

“Aww,” she coos. “Do you think there’s a chance he swings your way?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel replies, “but it wouldn’t matter even if he did.” He lifts a hand to cut off Charlie’s argument even as she opens her mouth, “I’m no more available for dating now than I was before the accident.”

“Less so even,” he adds wryly, looking down at his lap, where blankets cover the many well-stitched incisions from when a team of surgeons had worked for hours to repair Castiel’s shattered pelvis and punctured bladder.

“For now,” Charlie concedes with a grimace, “but eventually your body will heal, Cas, and so will your heart, if you let it.”

Reminding himself that his friend means well, Castiel suppresses the urge to roll his eyes and keeps his silence. He’s been over this with Charlie before and knows his protests will fall on deaf ears. It’s not a _broken heart_ that keeps Castiel from dating (it’s _not). _As a single father and full-time teacher, a career that’s not exactly known for being a nine to five kind of commitment, he’s honestly not sure when he’d find the time for romance even if he had the inclination. He may have been out of the game a while, but Castiel’s under the impression that _dating_ generally includes the going-on-of dates. In fact, he’s been led to believe it’s a fairly crucial component. How he’s supposed to find time to impress a prospective partner with candlelit dinners and romantic walks through the park in-between grading, lesson planning, and _raising his infant daughter_, is a mystery Charlie (or Gabriel, whose as obstinately and bizarrely invested in Castiel’s love life as his best friend) has yet to explain. So, unless he stumbles across a man whose ideal date is sitting on the secondhand sofa in Castiel’s two-bedroom apartment, sharing a beer and watching the same episode of Blue’s Clues for the fifth time with Claire while Castiel pores over essays and gripes about his freshman students’ complete and ineffable inability to grasp basic MLA citation format, he’s pretty much doomed to bachelorhood for the foreseeable future. 

Castiel smiles kindly at Charlie and does his best to ignore the sudden tightness in his chest as his traitorous brain slips _Dean_ into his fantasy “date.” _Dean, _sitting on Castiel’s couch, Claire curled up in his lap. _Dean, _smiling fondly at Castiel as he sighs and picks up yet another paper to grade. _Dean, _taking the paper and pen from Castiel’s tired hands despite his protests and pulling him to his feet before wrapping those muscled, firefighter’s arms around Castiel’s waist and kissing him deeply. 

Castiel shakes his head. Dean is his friend. His almost-certainly-heterosexual friend and even if he weren’t, Castiel is (in every way now) a tired and broken man. Someone as vibrant and joyful as Dean deserves a partner who is healthy, happy, and whole. Someone who is most definitely _not_ Castiel.

“Perhaps,” he lies to Charlie.

* * *

“So, Dean,” starts Sam as the three of them sit down to dinner (prepared by Dean, because neither Sam nor Jess can do much more in the kitchen than boil water) in Sam and Jess’ spacious Kansas City apartment. They’d upgraded from their modest one-bedroom when Sam landed a job at one of Kansas City’s top law firms after passing the Kansas bar two years ago. “How’s _Cas_ doing? I don’t think we’ve had our daily update,” and okay, _that’s _not fair. Dean doesn’t talk about the guy _that_ much.

“Cas is fine,” he answers shortly, making a face at his asshole brother. He’s determined to leave it at that (that’ll show the overgrown moose), but his resolve lasts for all of a minute before he continues, “Can you believe the guy’s never seen _Die Hard_?” Dean smiles at the memory of Cas’ incredulous face when Dean had told him about his favorite holiday movie (“Dean, every movie I’ve seen in the past year has had either a singing princess, talking animals, or a princess singing to talking animals and even _I_ know that Die Hard is _not_ a Christmas movie.”)

Sam chuckles, victorious, and Dean glares as Jess fails to stifle a giggle by taking a bite of her bread. 

“Et tu, Jess?” he asks with a frown.

“What?” she says, completely unapologetic. “I’m glad you’ve made a friend is all. Castiel seems like a really great guy.”

“He is,” Dean agrees quickly, “but that’s all he is guys, a _friend._”

“Why?” inquires Sam with a tilt of his shaggy head. “You don’t think he’s interested?”

“I don’t even know if he’s interested in guys at all, Sammy, let alone if he’s interested in Dean Winchester, thirty-two-year-old high school drop out with a crappy one-bedroom apartment and job that keeps me working overnights eight days out of the month.”

“Dean,” Sam says sternly, adopting his tired-of-Dean’s-shit bitchface (Bitchface No. 4™, for the folks playing along at home), but Dean cuts him off.

“Seriously Sam, the guy teaches _English Lit_ for Christ’s sake and he’s smart as hell. He can do way better than me on his _worst _day. Not to mention, the entire time I’ve known him, he’s either been trapped in a car or _lying immobilized in a goddamn hospital bed._ The _last _thing he needs right now is some creep hitting on him. I’m not gonna be that guy,” Dean says, as much to remind himself as to admonish Sam.

“Okay,” concedes Sam with a twist of his lips like he’s just tasted something sour (that’s the taste of _defeat,_ Sammy), “but he’s not gonna be in that hospital bed forever Dean, and when that time comes, maybe you should let Cas decide how he feels about you, instead of just making the choice for him.”

“Like I said Sam, I don’t even know if he’d be interested,” Dean starts, but Jess interrupts with a decidedly un-ladylike snort. 

_God, Sam lucked out with this one_, Dean thinks, not for the first time.

“Oh please! I think ‘interested’ is putting it mildly.” She adds an eye roll for good measure. “When Castiel woke up from that nightmare there were more heart eyes in that hospital room than in a Pepé Le Pew cartoon.” 

“Okay,” Dean starts grudgingly, “First, major props for the Looney Tunes reference...”

“And Dean,” Jess talks loudly over him, “you’re plenty smart enough to keep up with Castiel.” She levels a _look_ at him before continuing, “Having a baby brother who’s freakishly intelligent, no offense Baby, I love you,” she adds quickly, shooting a grin at Sam, “doesn’t make _you_ unintelligent.”

“She’s right, Dean,” Sam says seriously. “Believing Rhonda Hurley when she said she wouldn’t show anyone that picture of you wearing her panties is what makes you unintelligent.”

“She said she deleted it!” Dean bellows, launching a dinner roll at Sam’s giant moose-head as the Sasquatch guffaws loudly, doubling over in his seat.

But as they blessedly move on to far-less-uncomfortable-for-Dean topics, he can’t help but let his mind drift back to Jess’ earlier words. Not the ones about his intelligence (he’s heard that before), but about Cas and the “heart eyes.” Dean remembers the breathless feeling he’d had when Cas looked at him after waking suddenly from that nightmare. He’d looked at Dean like Dean was a thing of wonder, like Dean was worth something. Hell, like he was worth _everything._ Dean’s been in his fair share of relationships, but he’s pretty sure he’d remember if _anyone_ in his 32 years had ever _once_ looked at him like that. 

Sighing at himself ruefully, Dean shakes his head. But no. Cas had just come out of a fucking terrifying hallucinogenic dream for fuck’s sake; a dream that he _knew _was a dream but _couldn’t wake up from._ He would have looked at the goddamn potted plant with “heart eyes” if it had pulled him out of that hell. No, Cas is just his probably-isn’t-even-into-dudes _friend_, and Dean’s going to respect that, even if it kills him a little inside.

* * *

**_Friday, September 14, 2018_ **

Today marks seven days since Castiel’s accident, his fourth since his surgery, and it will be his first day of physical therapy. He’s been looking forward to physical therapy for a number of reasons. For one thing, the combination of physical trauma and being bedridden for more than a week has devastated Castiel’s previously fit, and more importantly, _functional _body. To his dismay, Castiel has found that he has almost no strength in his lower extremities. The internal fixator that’s been surgically implanted to stabilize his mending pelvis seems to push his hips outward. Despite his best efforts, his legs, especially his left, start to drift toward the edges of the bed, and Castiel is helpless to move them back. He has to ask a nurse or a tech to move them back for him, which is both frustrating and embarrassing for a man who was once able to run five miles at a time. Worse than the embarrassment is the pain however, his quickly atrophying muscles cramping and spasming from a combination of trauma, disuse, and medication side effects. The nurses keep him in a steady supply of disposable hot packs, which are the only things that allow him to sleep at night, despite his high doses of pain meds.

For another thing, physical therapy feels like something Castiel can _do_. Sometimes it feels like the last conscious choice he made was that ill-fated left turn two Fridays ago. Ever since then, if feels like his life has been happening _to_ him, without much input from Castiel at all. Starting physical therapy feels like the first steps (pun definitely _not_ intended since no literal “steps” are to be taken for the next three months) toward recovery and they are steps that he can be an active participant in.

Last, but not at all least, PT is something _new._ Castiel’s life in the hospital has settled quickly into a routine that is mind-numbing for someone accustomed to the chaotic activity of an eight-month-old and the hormone-fueled drama of adolescents on a daily basis. Every morning, starting at 5 AM, Castiel is visited by a parade of medical interns and fellows from the orthopedic, urology, and trauma departments. Each set of doctors asks Castiel to roll on his side (which he can actually do now, he’s pleased to say) so they can check his dressings, examine his healing incisions, and look for signs of infection while baring Castiel’s naked backside to the room. A tepid and thoroughly unappetizing breakfast follows, along with meds, vitals, and the nurses’ shift change at seven. About an hour later brings a tech, who bathes Castiel and changes his sheets, unhooking the fitted sheet from the top and bottom of one side of the mattress and rolling it toward the center until it’s bunched underneath Castiel, who then rolls over the lump so the sheet can be pulled free on the other side and the process then reversed with clean linens. More meds come with an equally disappointing lunch (he was at least upgraded to a solid diet yesterday, after _finally_ having his first bowel movement in a week, and _there’s _an experience he never wants to repeat... one that involved a bedpan and yet more nudity), followed again by vitals, rinse and repeat until dinner and bedtime. At this point, just about anything new is a welcome distraction (excepting the aforementioned bowel movement).

As Castiel grimaces at the memory of his digestive horrors, two new faces enter the room. Both look to be around Castiel’s age and are wearing scrubs like most other hospital personnel, but while the pale young woman with shoulder length brown hair pulled back in a messy bun is smiling brightly, the stocky man with a darker complexion and Filipino features is almost glowering. Clearly, resting bitch face is not just a feminine phenomenon. 

The two physical therapists introduce themselves, but honestly, Castiel doesn’t even make an attempt to remember their names. He’s met so many attendings, fellows, nurses, interns, and techs by this point that he couldn’t possibly remember all of their monikers even if he wanted to. Not to mention, he’s pretty sure the oxycodone he’s on is messing with his memory, or maybe it’s the trauma from his accident. Memories that he knows were crystal clear just a few days ago are already getting fuzzy around the edges, much too quickly to just be the normal fading of accurate recollection.

“Okay,” announces Mom-Bun cheerfully. “Let’s get you sitting up! If that goes okay, we may even try standing today!”

Castiel feels more than a little skeptical about her optimism; a feeling he sees echoed on RBF’s charming facial topography.

It’s painful (_fucking Hell_ is it painful), but after a few false starts, Castiel rolls to his right side and manages to use the grab bar on the side of his bed to haul himself to a sitting position as RBF slowly lowers his limp, weakened legs to the floor. Mom-Bun steadies Castiel with a hand to his shoulder as he heaves in breaths like he’s just run a 5K instead of sitting up in bed for the first time in a week and Castiel closes his eyes against the ensuing dizziness. 

He’s barely caught his breath when Mom-Bun announces in that chipper voice he’s quickly learning to hate, “Okay, that went great! Let’s give standing a try!”

Eyes widening into saucers, he gapes at her. Holy fuck! They aren’t _done_?

RBF, a man of few words, it seems, positions a metal walker in front of Castiel as he and Mom-Bun position themselves to either side of him. With Mom-Bun’s gentle coaching, Castiel presses his hands into the mattress and slowly shifts himself forward, until his bottom is at the edge of the bed. Then, with the therapists lifting him under his arms, he leans forward, supporting as much of his weight as he can with the walker, and stands. It’s certainly not pleasant, with the surge of pain through his pelvis and the unsettling feeling of supporting himself on legs that are partially numb (a side-effect of surgery so close to his spinal column that the doctor assures him should fade in time), but the feeling of not having the bed pressing against his legs and backside for the first time in days is _amazing._ He’s been careful to have the nurses help him change positions slightly every few hours, tilting his body to the side slightly and then asking the nurses to prop him up with pillows, in order to avoid bed sores or cramped muscles (because apparently no one else thinks to do that unless the patient is unconscious), but this is the first time since the accident that he’s been able to remove all of the pressure from his back and legs.

Castiel sighs in relief and Mom-Bun offers him an encouraging smile. Unfortunately, RBF is there to ruin the moment. “How about seeing if you can scoot to the side a few steps to that chair?” 

Castiel shakes his head regretfully. “I can’t. The doctor said I can pivot, but not to do anything else.”

At RBF’s skeptical glare, he adds, “His exact words were, ‘absolutely no scooting, sliding, shuffling, or taking steps.’ He threatened me with the possibilities of more surgery or extended wheelchair time if I disobey and mess up my healing.”

Clearly frustrated, RBF argues, “That’s a really weird order, you know that? Usually, a patient is either completely non-weight bearing or they can weight bear as tolerated, up to a certain weight limit.”

Castiel shrugs, but doesn’t bother to hide his annoyance with the difficult man as he replies, “I wouldn’t know. He’s the doctor, you’d have to ask him. I’d like my pelvis to be in one piece again instead of its current eight, so I don’t plan to go against his orders.”

RBF looks like he wants to keep arguing (no surprise there), but Mom-Bun cuts him off, earning herself her very own glower, which she appears immune to, “You did great for today, Castiel. I know you’ve already heard this, but we’re going to recommend that you spend some time in a physical rehabilitation hospital before going home. I’ll write up your PT eval from today and we can get the process started to get you out of here and one step closer to home!”

As Castiel smiles at her gratefully, she adds, “And oh, hey! Since you did such a great job standing today, I think it would be safe to put in an order for you to stand and pivot to a bedside commode!”

Castiel would be ashamed of the joy this brings him if he were even capable of such an emotion anymore. It may not seem like much, but transferring to a commode means no more bedpans and is one step closer to pissing in privacy, so he’ll take it. RBF’s uninspiring countenance aside, Castiel’s day is looking up.

* * *

“Cassie! How’s tricks?” 

“Cassie is a girl’s name,” Castiel reminds his brother for what must be the 4,587th time... this year.

“Duh,” comes Gabriel’s eloquent response. “Why else would I use it?”

At Castiel’s unamused glare, he continues, “If you’re _that_ opposed to it, I suppose I could change it, Casaliscious. Casanova? Cassafrass? Super-CAS-ifragilisticexpialidocious?”

Castiel squints his eyes and glares harder, as if that has ever once worked on his obnoxious older brother.

“Even though the sound of it is really quite atrooo...”

“Why are you here?” he asks irritably before Gabriel can reproduce the full song and dance number from _Mary Poppins. _His irritation is mainly for show, however. Gabe’s visits always bring much-needed light to Castiel’s dreary hospital room. The only other person who can lighten his mood this much is Dean, whose arrival Castiel is actually anticipating later this evening, after he finishes his shift at the fire station.

“Can’t I just stop in to ask my favorite baby brother how his day was?” Gabriel asks, placing a hand over his heart in mock-offense.

At Castiel’s disbelieving eyebrow raise, he insists, “Just thought I’d cut out from the shop an hour early and check up on you before I head off to pick up the rug rat.”

Feeling his face soften and his heart clench at the mention of his daughter, Castiel asks, “How is Claire?”

“She’s great, Cas. She had trouble sleeping the first few nights and I think she misses her dad, but overall she’s been a real trooper.”

Castiel nods, fighting the familiar wave of tears at the thought of how long it’s been since he’s seen his baby girl. Before the accident, he’d never been away from Claire overnight. Hell, aside from leaving her at daycare to go to work during the school year or for a few hours a week while he does his grocery shopping in the summer, he’s only ever left her with a babysitter twice and that was only because Charlie insisted he go out with her for “grown-up-type social interaction.” In fact, she’d accused him of becoming that hermit in video games that’s always supplying the players with helpful information and tools to guide them on their quests, but never leaves his hut. Castiel had argued that the hermit served a valuable purpose and if he left his hut, the adventurers wouldn’t be able to find him and the entire game would self-destruct. Charlie wasn’t impressed.

“That’s good,” Castiel says, clearing his throat. “I miss her so much.”

“I know you do,” Gabriel says with uncharacteristic softness, then his eyes brighten and he sits up in excitement. “That’s why I got you this!”

He brandishes a brand new iPhone, waving it in front of Castiel’s face. His previous phone had eventually been recovered from the wreckage of his vehicle, but it was smashed beyond repair. In an attempt to save money, he hadn’t purchased the insurance on it and it was going to be a while before he could save up enough to afford anything beyond the most basic hardware.

“Gabe,” he admonishes, “I can’t accept this. It’s far too much money.”

Gabe’s expression turns stern, “You can and you will. You’re going to need something better than some cheap, pre-paid POS if you’re going to Facetime with Claire.”

Castiel is about to argue further when the end of Gabe’s sentence hits him and his mouth snaps shut. Getting to see his daughter in real time again is worth far more than his wounded pride. 

He takes the phone from his brother with a hushed, “Thank you, Gabriel. I...”

“Don’t mention it,” his brother brushes off brusquely, before moving to stand.

“I wish I could stay longer, but the princess awaits her chariot,” he says regally, bowing formally to Castiel in his hospital bed.

“Does that make you the ‘noble steed?’” Castiel asks, quoting a movie that’s a shared favorite of both Gabriel and Claire. (See Dean, he’s seen _some_ movies.)

Gabriel just neighs loudly in response and gallops out of Castiel’s hospital room.

* * *

Later that evening Castiel is resting in bed after having undergone a successful, yet exhausting quest to stand and pivot to his bedside commode (wouldn’t Charlie be proud?), waiting for the extra pain medication he’d had to ask for after his adventures in toileting to kick in. He’s never really thought about it before, but it occurs to him now that human bodies are really, very inconvenient. Urination and defecation especially, are tiresome chores. He takes a moment to curse evolution for not finding a more elegant solution to the problems of digestion (photosynthesis, now there’s an efficient, mess-free process), before turning his head to face Dean as the man enters the room.

“Do you ever get tired of urinating?” 

“How’re those pain meds treatin’ ya there, bud?” Dean asks with a grin.

Attempting to hide his embarrassment with a glare (which he’s sure is only partially effective due to the blush he knows is staining his cheeks), he answers Dean, “My pain medication is currently effective, thank you.”

Dean chuckles as he takes the chair next to Castiel’s bed. It’s the only other seating option in the cramped room.

“So, how was your day?” Dean asks casually.

Castiel has had little control over his emotions since the accident. It’s likely another side effect of the trauma, his medication, or both, but he often finds his mood shifting from grief, to anger, to fear and back again without warning. 

Currently, feeling inexplicably irritated with his new friend he replies acerbically, “Well, let’s see, I stood-up, ate solid food, and pooped today, and people were really excited about all of it. My life is officially equivalent to that of my eight-month-old.”

Dean howls with mirth. “You’re a snarky bastard, you know that?” he quips with a shake of his head.

“It’s one of my better qualities,” Castiel nods.

Grinning, Dean asks, “At the risk of pissing you off again, how much of this is the pain meds and how much is you?”

Tilting his head side-to-side in consideration, Castiel answers, “Mmm, a little bit of A, a lotta bit of B?”

“Good,” Dean says with a toothy smile that leaves Castiel slightly breathless. “I like it.”

After a slight pause, he asks, “Do I want to know what prompted the ‘urination’ question earlier?”

“Probably not,” Castiel responds, but then relents at Dean’s tell-me-anyway expression.

Grimacing and ignoring his renewed blush, he gestures to the commode, “I’ve been upgraded in my toileting privileges, but it turns out urination is much more difficult when just standing makes you feel like you’ve run a marathon and there’s a tech breathing down your neck, waiting for you to finish.”

“That sucks, man,” Dean sympathizes with his own grimace. “Some things are sacred and the privacy of the porcelain throne should be one of them.”

“I’ve been poked, prodded, and examined by so many different people over the past two weeks that I’m not sure I can find the energy to worry about modesty at this point,” Castiel responds glumly.

“Well, look on the bright side,” Dean smirks while waggling his eyebrows, “at least that means plenty of sponge baths from helpful nurses.”

And there it is: confirmation that Dean Winchester is straight. 

Castiel covers the surprisingly strong twang of disappointment in his gut with a snort, “Unfortunately, I think that particular benefit is wasted on me, seeing as all the nurses I’ve encountered thus far are women and I’m, as my best friend likes to say, ‘gayer than Christmas.’”

As he drops his hands from air quoting Charlie, he sees Dean’s eyebrows shoot up. He feels suddenly self-conscious, then immediately chides himself for it. He’s been out for his entire adult life without shame. If Dean has a problem with Castiel’s sexuality, then it’s just that: _Dean’s_ problem. He’s not about to let some arrogant, over-compensating, all-American, desperately handsome, probably-rescues-kittens-in-his-free-time (because he just fucking would, wouldn’t he?) fire fighter make him feel bad about his preferences.

His internal rant is cut short and his brain stutters to a halt when said fire fighter smiles, somewhat shyly, and says, “Yeah? I’m an equal opportunities kind of guy myself.” 

Castiel is sure he’s not imagining the slight blush coloring Dean’s cheeks and that seals it.

He is so screwed. He also needs to buy Charlie a Slytherin House scarf.

Dean Winchester is not straight.

Dean Winchester is not straight and Castiel just had a conversation with him about _urination._

Dean clears his throat and Castiel realizes that he’s just been sitting there, staring stupidly, since Dean announced his not-so-straightness and unknowingly overturned all of his very carefully constructed assumptions. _Oh, dear God!_ His mouth wasn’t hanging open was it? 

Dean chuckles nervously and asks, “Do you want me to scope the place out for any cute boy-nurses or orderlies? I might have some pull over at the nurses’ station. I think they’re really starting to warm up to me.”

“Dean Winchester, back again I see. Visiting hours ended thirty minutes ago, which I know I told you just yesterday. Don’t you have a home?” Nurse Jody Mills strides into Cas’ room, raising an unimpressed eyebrow at Dean. 

Cas grins, the tension from earlier evaporating.

“Oh yes, Dean. I see what you mean. They’re definitely warming to you. Jody waited an entire thirty minutes to throw you out this time.”

“Yeah, yeah, laugh it up, Chuckles,” Dean grumbles to Castiel under his breath before turning to Jody with a charming grin that makes the teacher’s stomach clench and his breath catch in his throat. He’ll never understand how Jody seems immune to it.

“Come on Jodes, I only got off shift an hour ago and I wanted to stop by and see you. Can’t have you missing me.” Dean winks and Cas sends a silent prayer of thanks to any-and-all listening deities that he isn’t still on any monitors that could give away the sudden increase in his heart rate.

Before Jody can respond, she’s interrupted by the arrival of Ruby, her evening replacement, there to do the usual shift change handover. 

“Take it easy on poor Dean-O there, Mills. He’s just making sure our little baby bird Castiel here doesn’t get too lonely. Besides, I’m sure Castiel doesn’t mind AT ALL, ain’t that right, Angel?” Ruby smirks at Castiel, an all-too-knowing glint in her eye that makes him fight the urge to squirm uncomfortably in his bed. 

“Of course, I don’t mind Dean visiting,” he mumbles, just barely managing to keep the blush from his cheeks. Dean lights up at that and shoots a cheeky grin at Jody.

“See? At least _somebody_ wants me around here!”

Dean Winchester is going to be the death of him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So what did you think of Charlie? She's always such fun to write!
> 
> For anyone wondering, Mom Bun and RBF are based on real life sadists, I mean, physical therapists. 
> 
> Next week: We get to see Dean's reaction to his conversation with Cas and then we get to see him _in_ action. Plus, we get a little back story on our favorite English teacher.


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey Everyone!
> 
> As usual, thank you so much for your comments on the last chapter. I'm glad so many of you enjoyed it and are enjoying this story as a whole. I promised you we'd learn a little more about Cas in Chapter 5 and you'll get some hints about Dean too! Cas also gets a little closer to home, we get a glimpse of Claire, and keep your eyes peeled for a couple of old friends!
> 
> I'm going to try to keep up on responding to comments this week, but I realized the other day that we only have a week left until the Season 15 premier and I still hadn't watched Season 14! I've watched more tv in the past 3 days than in the past 3 months and I still have 10 episodes to go by next Thursday! So, if you I'm a little late on my replies, that's why! XD
> 
> Please tell me that some of you are as terrible as I am and are also behind on watching the show!! 
> 
> I'm putting a few warnings in the chapter end notes, so be sure to check them if you need to! As always, thank you for reading!

** _Saturday, September 15, 2018_ **

_Cas is not straight._

_Cas is not straight and that means Cas likes guys._

_I’m a guy._

Dean rolls his eyes at his incredibly observant inner monologue. Cas may like guys, but that doesn’t mean Cas likes _Dean._ Besides, all of the other reasons Dean gave Sam (and Inner Dean) for not pursuing Cas still stand:

Cas was in a car accident.

Cas is in the hospital.

Cas is his _friend._

But still, he’s pretty sure he didn’t imagine the blush on Cas’ face when Dean had admitted to swinging both ways. Honestly, he’d been a little worried when Cas had gone silent on him there for a minute. Biphobia and bi-erasure aren’t just straight-people things, after all. It never fails to sadden Dean how many people try to forget about the “B” in LGBT, and that’s not to mention the QIA+ additions to their ever-expanding community. He’ll never understand why someone who knows personally what it’s like to feel that kind of rejection would then choose to reject others.

Cas had spent a long moment just staring at Dean, but then Jody had come in and his friend had been back to their normal banter, leaving Dean with no clue what that silence meant, other than he was pretty sure now that Cas wasn’t prejudiced against his sexuality.

“Hey there, Brother,” Benny’s warm greeting interrupts Dean’s inner reflection as the burly man joins him at the small dining table in the fire station’s kitchenette. 

The fire house has a small, but functional kitchen for the fire men and women to use while they’re on-call. In fact, a few of the younger guys actually stay here full time. Dean himself had spent a couple months living out of an on-call bunk and a duffle after Sam had first left their shared apartment to move in with Jess. Their two-bedroom had been out of Dean’s price range without Sam splitting the rent and a couple months at the fire house had allowed him to save up his first and last month’s rent for a smaller place of his own.

“Heya, Benny,” he returns the greeting with a smile for his friend and lieutenant. “What’s happening?”

“Not much. Andrea’s folks are in town, but unfortunately, I’ve been stuck pulling overtime at the station. Paperwork and all that, you know,” he says with a grin and a wink.

Dean barks out a laugh, “Old man’s still not a fan of yours, huh?”

“We’re friendly, enough,” his friend hedges. “Speakin’ of friends, heard you went and made yourself a new one,” he adds with an inquisitive raise of his eyebrows.

“Sam’s got a big mouth,” Dean responds flatly. Goddamn, nosey little brother.

“Ah, don’t be too hard on him, Cher. Just came up in conversation. Actually, I think he was surprised I hadn’t heard anything about _Cas_, since you talk about him so much and all.” 

Benny’s voice is neutral and non-judgmental, but Dean still narrows his eyes.

“What’s Sam doing ‘conversating’ with you anyway? Last I checked, you two don’t exactly get along,” he accuses and actually, that’s a bit of an understatement. It’s also a bit unfair to Benny, whose never actually said a bad word about Dean’s brother. Sam, on the other hand, has always harbored a strong dislike for Dean’s lieutenant. Dean suspects it’s because he himself had harbored a crush on the burly Cajun back when Dean had first joined the Department. 

_That’s got nothin’ on the crush you’ve got on Cas though, _Dean’s inner monologue supplies unhelpfully, the goddamn traitorous asshole.

Unfortunately, Benny actually was straight and dating Andrea at the time. Dean’s pretty sure the man knew about his crush, but he’d never let it affect the way he acted around Dean and the two had developed a close friendship over the years. Outside of Sam, Benny’s one of the few people he knows he can trust with absolutely anything, which is probably why his friend is looking a little hurt right about now.

“It wasn’t much of a conversation to be honest. Sam was in the area and dropped in to see if you were on a call because you weren’t answering your phone. When I told him you’d already left for the day, he said you must be visitin’ Cas.” Now he looks at Dean expectantly and Dean sighs.

“Cas is the guy we pulled out of that Highlander last week. The one where we had to cut the whole damn roof off.”

“The one you personally stopped by the hospital to return his glasses to?” Benny comments with a quirked brow, and of course, he would goddamn remember that.

“Yup.” Dean answers shortly. So maybe he should have told Benny about Cas. That still doesn’t mean he has to tell him _everything._

“This isn’t just about those pretty blue eyes of his is it, Brother? Don’t think I didn’t notice that you were a little more... protective of him than you are most folks we pull outta cars.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “It ain’t like that, Benny.”

Benny stares at him.

“Okay, it’s a little like that,” Dean admits ruefully, “but it’s not _just_ like that. The guy’s in the hospital and he doesn’t have a lot of family around here. He needs a friend is all. We’re _friends.”_

“Uh huh,” Benny responds drily, clearly disbelieving.

“I’m not gonna try and pick up a guy stuck in a fucking hospital bed, Benny. I’m not _that_ guy.”

Why doesn’t _anyone_ believe that Dean’s not that guy?

“I’m not sayin’ you are, Cher,” Benny says soothingly. “It’s also not this _Cas _of yours I’m worried about,” the fire fighter adds protectively. “When Dean Winchester decides to befriend someone, he doesn’t do half measures. You’ve got a big heart, Cher. Just make sure you protect it.”

Somewhere inside of him, Dean knows Benny has a point. The thing is, Dean doesn’t really have _friends. _He has _family_, and Dean Winchester will do anything for his family. He doesn’t hold back. Doesn’t even know how to. That kind of devotion has been taken advantage of before, with people using Dean for his blind loyalty and willingness to sacrifice himself for the people he cares about. It hasn’t happened often, but when it does, it’s devastating. On the other hand, worry for the people he loves can make Dean a real overprotective bastard sometimes, and that side of him has ended up driving people away. So yeah, Benny has a point when he tells Dean to look out for himself, but it’s a moot point. Whether or not they ever become anything more than just friends, Dean’s already in too deep with Cas to back out now.

He was honest with Benny though. Sure, Cas is stunning and those blue eyes and lean, runner’s body have a habit of popping into Dean’s head at less than appropriate times (_easy, Winchester), _but it’s more than that. It’s not just how fucking gorgeous Cas’ eyes are, it’s how they go all soft and tearful when he talks about his daughter. It’s how they crinkle around the edges when he’s being a sarcastic bastard. Speaking of which, that’s another thing Dean can’t get enough of. Most of the time, Cas talks like a goddamn dictionary... no, not a dictionary. What’s the one that gives you bigger words that mean the same thing as the little words apes like Dean use? Thesaurus. Most of the time, Cas talks like a damn _thesaurus_, but then he can turn around and be the world’s snarkiest asshole in the next breath. He’s the only person Dean knows who can actually make you smarter while he’s insulting you. He probably makes the perfect high school teacher, Dean reflects wryly. 

Thankfully, Dean doesn’t get the chance to respond to his friend’s touching words. He’s never been good at accepting praise or concern from the people who care about him. Dean would much rather be the one doing the caring and the worrying. Now though, he stands up and joins Benny as they head for the truck and the rest of their company as the alarm rings throughout the station. 

Dean pushes away thoughts of Cas as he gears up and jumps on the departing truck. He’s not some probie who’ll let himself be distracted while he’s on a call. Dean knows better. Distractions like that will get you, the people you’re supposed to be saving, and your fellow fire fighters killed.

He takes a deep breath as they round a corner and the house fire comes into view, undulating flames leaping along the slanted roof of the small Cape Cod in cruel, cutting arcs. Thick, black smoke rolls out of the windows and pushes upward in angry billows, blotting out the bright blue of the afternoon sky. It doesn’t matter how many years Dean is on the job, these calls are always the hardest for him. Benny shoots him a knowing glance and Dean nods steadily at him in return. He’s alright. He’ll be fine.

Dean methodically layers on the rest of his protective gear, silently naming each piece and checking it off a mental checklist, strapping on his mask and oxygen tank last as a local uniform updates Benny on the status of the homeowners. He keeps his mind clear and focused on the facts, reciting them in his head after Benny fills the rest of the company in. Most of the family are out and accounted for, having actually listened to the recommendations the fire department makes every year during Fire Safety Week at the local elementary and middle schools: designating a safe meeting place and practicing multiple ways to exit the house in the event of a fire. There’s one child from the family of five missing, however: an eight-year-old boy. His older brother says he was right behind him as they started crawling from the bedrooms to the kitchen door, but when he turned around to check on him, he’d disappeared. 

Nodding grimly at Benny’s barked orders, Dean and two of his team move into the burning house. Fortunately, the fire seems to have started in the attic, or at the very least on the second floor, and the bedroom the two boys shared is on the main level. Still though, the hungry flames have made their way down the stairway and are quickly eating through the first story ceiling above them and the dense, heavy smoke has made its way to the first floor as well. Dean hopes the young boy knows enough to stay down and away from the rising smoke. Even if he has though, with the volume of smoke and choking gray ash currently wending its way around the fire fighter, there’s a strong likelihood that the poor kid has already succumbed to smoke inhalation.

Moving carefully through the house as it blisters around him, support beams groaning and popping in the death rattle of a burning home, Dean makes his way past the kitchen where he can just see the veneer of the cabinets starting to smolder and peel, to the short hallway beyond. At the end of the hall he spots a closed door and a brief flicker of hope beats to life in his chest. If the kid he’s looking for is behind that closed door, he might still be alive after all. A closed door can be a surprisingly effective barrier against smoke, which is a much faster and more deadly enemy than flame when it comes to a house fire.

Opening the door cautiously in case the boy is on the other side, Dean steps into the room, wreathed in black smoke that seems eager to claim what’s previously been denied it. Both training and experience lead Dean to the closest of the two beds, where he kneels in his heavy gear to look underneath. Frightened kids often crawl to the perceived safety under their beds when faced with a fire outside their bedroom doors. The floor beneath the first bed is empty and Dean feels that newfound feeling of hope in his chest start to sputter, but when he looks under the second bed he finds the curled figure of a young boy, head cradled in his arms. Pushing aside his feelings of relief, this is no time to celebrate or relax, he still has to get both of them out of the house, Dean reaches for the boy, who instinctively pulls back in fear. Not having the time to be gentle, the room filling quickly with the dark and deadly smoke, he surges forward and grasps a thin arm, hauling the boy to him and tucking him against his chest. 

As quickly as he dares, Dean finds his way back to the front door with the boy cradled in his arms, meeting Roy and Victor, the two fire fighters he’d come in with, along the way. Dean makes it halfway to the perimeter the Overland Park PD have set up around the burning house before the EMTs swoop in, moving the boy from Dean’s arms to a gurney. By the time Dean is pulling off his gear and slumping against the side of his truck, the kid’s being loaded into the ambulance with an oxygen mask pulled over his mouth and nose. His weeping mother smooths the sooty hair back from his forehead as his father, brother, and sister hold one another and watch from the side of the road. 

Dean blinks back tears. They all made it. The kid’ll spend a few days in the children’s hospital, being treated for smoke inhalation, but he’ll recover. Feeling a heavy hand on his shoulder, Dean looks over into the smiling face of his lieutenant. 

“You did real good there, Cher,” Benny drawls softly.

Dean nods tiredly, before stowing his gear and crawling back into the truck. He trades quiet smiles with Victor and Roy before leaning his head back against the seat behind him.

They all made it.

* * *

Saturday brings another day of physical therapy for Castiel. RBF and Mom-Bun spend about thirty minutes working with him on finding the most efficient, and least painful, ways for him to get in and out of bed. For the time being, this requires Castiel to lie on his side, using his arms to push his top half up while someone else slowly lowers his legs until his feet hit the floor. Lying back down is simply the reverse: Castiel lowers his upper body while his helper lifts his legs onto the bed.

The entire process seems pretty straight forward, but once the PTs leave and Castiel is left to rely on the nurses and techs for his assistance, he learns it’s more problematic than originally thought. If the person aiding Castiel doesn’t lift or lower his legs at the exact same pace he’s moving the upper half of his body, keeping his pelvis in-line with his torso, pain blooms throughout his middle. Some of the nurses, like his PTs, are good at judging the pacing and follow Castiel’s lead, but a few seem to want to toss his bottom half into the bed like he’s just another part of the bedding. He quickly learns to coach them through each step, earning a few dirty looks in the process.

By midday, he’s sore and exhausted, but as he settles back against his pillows for a pain medication-induced nap, he receives a piece of very welcome news. A tall, African-American woman who introduces herself as the head of the hospital’s physical therapy team informs Castiel that he’ll be discharged from the KUMC sometime tomorrow and will be transported to the Rehabilitation Hospital of Overland Park, which he’d chosen from a list the hospital had given him of rehabilitation facilities in the Kansas City area due to its being closer to home. Hopefully, Gabe will be able to bring Claire to visit him there. Children aren’t allowed on the trauma floor at KUMC and honestly, it’s not something Castiel would want her seeing anyway. 

The trauma floor is connected to the hospital’s burn unit and sometimes burn patients can be seen being transported through the halls. The bandages and seared skin don’t bother Castiel, but there simply aren’t pain killers strong enough to mask the pain for some of them. Their suffering is difficult to witness, though of course, not anything like it must be to experience. Even Dean seems to be affected by it, his features drawn and tight after having passed a patient from the burn unit on his way to Castiel’s room. He’s looked almost haunted, the couple of times that it’s happened and Castiel supposes it must have something to do with his job as a firefighter. Dean would know better than anyone how some of those people received their injuries. 

Castiel reaches for his new smartphone on the bedside table and texts Gabe and Charlie to let them know that he’s being moved to Overland Park tomorrow. After a moment’s hesitation, he texts Dean as well. Seeing it sitting next to him, awaiting Gabriel and Claire’s evening Facetime call, the firefighter had entered his number into Castiel’s new phone before Jody had finally chased him out during his most recent visit. It’s the first time he’s texted Dean, but they _are_ friends and Castiel figures Dean wouldn’t have given him his number if he didn’t want him to use it. Besides, it would be rude to let Dean learn Castiel had been transferred by showing up at the hospital to visit him, only to find a new patient in his room.

That done, Castiel uses the buttons on the side rail of his hospital bed to recline the mattress and lies back for his previously interrupted nap.

When he wakes, hours later, the small window shows only darkness outside, tinged with the orange glow of an out-of-sight street light. Rubbing his eyes and reaching for his glasses, Castiel squints to see the time on his iPhone, 10:56. He slept the entire evening away. Glancing to his left, he sees his dinner tray, sitting abandoned on the rolling table. The previously hot entrée is certainly a congealed, tepid mess by now and since being hot is really the only compliment one can bestow upon the hospital’s cuisine anyway, he avoids it, reaching instead for the pudding cup. Chocolate pudding in hand, Castiel uses the remote on his call button to turn on the small TV suspended in the corner of the room and settles in to watch the evening news.

He’s about 20 minutes into the broadcast when the words, “House Fire,” pop-up on the screen, surrounded by illustrated flames. The news anchor begins introducing the story of an Overland Park family who lost their home to a blaze started by faulty wiring in their attic early this afternoon. The image changes as video of the fire rolls on screen and the newscaster continues the story.

“Eight-year-old Marcus Tucker was trapped in the bedroom he shares with his older brother, Kevin, but was rescued by Overland Park firefighters with only minutes to spare before the first-floor ceiling caved in. The boy’s mother, Kayla Tucker...” 

Castiel tunes out the rest of her report as he watches a firefighter, covered head to toe in his heavy turnout gear, emerges from the inferno, staggering slightly but moving steadily forward with the help of two other firefighters, a small boy cradled against his soot-stained chest. He’s not sure how he knows, but he’s not at all surprised when EMTs take the child from the firefighter’s arms and he pulls off his hat and mask to reveal the chiseled jaw and high cheekbones of Castiel’s newest friend. The camera angle shifts slightly to stay focused on the child being cared for by the efficient EMTs, but Castiel’s eyes remain riveted on the clearly exhausted firefighter in the background, rubbing a hand over his weary face. Castiel thinks the hand might be trembling slightly, but at this distance, that could easily be his imagination.

Muting the TV, but still focused on the screen as the footage of Dean carrying a tiny boy out of the flaming maw replays above him, Castiel fumbles blindly for his phone. Finally tearing his eyes away from the TV, he finds Dean’s contact in his phone and presses “send,” before thinking about the fact that it’s 11:30 at night, and his friend has clearly had a very long day.

He’s about to hang up the phone when Dean’s voice, sleep-roughened and somehow even more attractive than his usual deep baritone, answers, “Hullo?”

“Dean,” he starts uncertainly, “I apologize for calling so late...”

“Hey Cas,” his friend greets in warm recognition, “It’s not a problem. I take it you just saw the eleven o’clock news.”

“How did you know?”

Dean chuckles tiredly, “Because I’ve had calls from just about everyone I know since they first aired that footage at six.”

“I’m sorry, Dean,” Castiel says immediately. “You must be exhausted. It was inappropriate of me to call...”

This time, Dean cuts him off with a small snort, “No more inappropriate than me showing up at the hospital the day of your surgery even though we barely knew each other, just because I couldn’t stop worrying.”

Castiel asks curiously, “You were worried?” He’s not used to having anyone other than Gabriel or Charlie worry about him. It’s... nice.

“Well, yeah, Cas.” Even though he can’t see Dean, Castiel can picture his friend’s nonchalant shrug, “Friends worry.”

Thinking about how he’d felt seeing Dean on that news footage, he agrees, “Yes, I suppose that’s true.”

“Speaking of things friends do,” Dean adds, “Sorry for not responding to your text earlier. That’s awesome news, man.”

“Well, you’ve been a little busy, so I suppose I can forgive you,” Castiel responds drily, rolling his eyes even though Dean can’t see him.

“Yeah, yeah, smartass.” 

Castiel smiles, hearing the answering eyeroll in the firefighter’s voice. 

“If it’s all right, I can stop by tomorrow evening to see how you’re settling in,” Dean says, voice lifting in question.

“Dean,” Castiel chides softly, “You don’t have to do that. You should be resting.”

“Nah,” Dean argues, “I have tomorrow off, so I can sleep in. I’ll get some rest tonight and be good as new. It’s all part of the job, Cas.”

“If you’re sure,” he replies uncertainly.

“I’m sure, Cas. I’ll see you tomorrow, okay?”

“Okay, Dean,” he relents. “I’ll let you get some rest now. Good night.”

“Night, Cas.”

Castiel reflects on Dean’s words after he disconnects their call. He wonders how many other calls Dean had gone on, how many other people he had helped, just on the day he met Castiel. Part of him is awed by the firefighter. He’s never met someone like Dean, so earnest and determined in his desire to help other people, without asking for anything in return. Another part of him though, a completely ridiculous part, can’t help but be disappointed at the reminder that what was such a profound experience for him was just another day’s work for Dean. 

Castiel switches off the TV and presses the button to turn off the fluorescent light above his bed, plunging the room into darkness. He settles back against his pillows, but finds himself unable to sleep for some time, the image of Dean staggering out of that fiery house, carrying eight-year-old Marcus to safety, playing on repeat in his unsettled mind.

* * *

**_Sunday, September 16, 2018_ **

Sunday morning, Gabriel arrives early to drop off a suitcase of Castiel’s clothing and personal toiletries before he’s transported to the rehab hospital. Now that he can sit up and get in and out of bed, albeit with assistance, Castiel will be able to transfer to a wheelchair and begin working on caring for his own personal needs. 

Gabe doesn’t stay long to visit, since Charlie is currently watching Claire for him. Castiel feels the familiar pang of guilt at how much his brother has turned his life upside down, again, to care for himself and Claire. He buries the urge to apologize though, knowing Gabriel will just brush it off as usual, and instead focuses on the gratitude he feels towards his older brother.

The trip from Kansas City to Overland Park takes a bit longer in the transport ambulance than it would by car, mainly because the vehicle obeys all of the speed limits, but Castiel is pleased to find that the bouncing ambulance isn’t nearly as jarring or painful as he anticipated. 

Once they reach the rehab hospital, Castiel’s gurney is wheeled into a bright room on the building’s second floor. Looking around, he notes that the room is easily twice the size of his room at KUMC, but also contains a second bed, which is currently empty. He’s both relieved and slightly disappointed by this. He appreciates the privacy, but he’s hoping that he won’t feel as isolated here as he had on the trauma floor in Kansas City. Any worries about that fade, however, when his nurse explains Castiel’s soon-to-be daily routine. He’ll be undergoing three hours of intensive physical and occupational therapy each day. In addition to that, he’ll have occasional group sessions where he’ll join other patients working on similar skills. Remembering how exhausted he’s felt after just 30 to 40 minutes of physical therapy the past couple of days, Castiel can’t help but feel a little overwhelmed by the prospect of six times that amount. 

Shortly after the transport medics take their leave, a cheery blonde woman bounces into Castiel’s new hospital room.

“Hi there! I’m one of the occupational therapists ‘round these parts. Name’s Donna and you and I are gonna be pals while you’re here, just you wait and see!”

“Good afternoon,” Castiel responds, eyes a little wide. Donna practically vibrates with barely restrained enthusiasm. He can’t decide if it’s endearing or alarming. It might be a little of both.

“Now,” Donna says, warm brown eyes twinkling, “we don’t have anything official on the books until tomorrow morning, but I know you’ve spent the last week laid up in a hospital bed and I thought now that you’re here, you might like a real shower.”

Castiel’s mouth falls open and, gay or not, he just might marry this woman.

“A shower? I can do that?”

“You betcha!” says the energetic woman with a grin.

At Donna’s direction, Castiel digs through his suitcase, pulling out a set of boxers, soft flannel pajama pants, and a t-shirt, as well as the shampoo, conditioner, and body wash Gabriel had packed for him. After asking Castiel how he was transferring in and out of bed at KUMC, Donna expertly lifts his legs as Castiel sits on the edge of his bed, then guides him through pivoting to a wheelchair she’d retrieved and positioned next to the bed. This chair belongs to the hospital, but he’ll receive his own, ordered through his insurance, before he goes home. 

Donna steers the chair into the room’s spacious bathroom for Castiel. “Don’t want you to get all tuckered out before we even make it to the main event,” she explains with a wink and Castiel chuckles. He’s decided Donna’s boundless energy is more endearing than frightening after all.

Figuring out the logistics of showering and dressing takes even more time and problem solving than Castiel anticipated. Surprisingly, Donna doesn’t tell him what to do, waiting patiently while Castiel works through each obstacle, only stepping in to offer suggestions on how Castiel can accomplish a task in a way that’s easier or more efficient. They decide that Castiel will transfer to the shower bench, then remove his clothes since there’s more room for him to move around and maneuver in the shower than in the wheelchair, but that he’ll transfer back to the towel-covered wheelchair prior to dressing, in order to keep his clean clothing dry, both agreeing there’s nothing worse than wet socks and underwear.

Donna has to help him remove his socks since he can’t bend down, but tells him that tomorrow she’ll bring him a “reacher” tool that will help him manage tasks like that more independently. Castiel is able to remove his hospital gown easily, but Donna has to help him cover the surgical incisions on his front and backsides with adhesive plastic coverings, as well as the long laceration along his ribs. The shower prep takes upward of 20 minutes, but finally, Donna is adjusting the water temperature and handing Castiel the removable shower head. She makes sure his toiletries are in easy reach on the shower bench and shows him where the emergency pull cord is in case he falls or needs assistance, then steps outside of the shower curtain to give him some privacy.

The combination of the hot shower spray against his skin and the privacy to enjoy it is a little overwhelming and Castiel feels tears welling up in his eyes. As he rubs shampoo into his oily hair for the first time in more than a week, he can’t help the quiet moan that escapes his lips.

“I feel human again,” he says to where he can see Donna’s silhouette on the other side of the white shower curtain.

She chuckles, “I hear that a lot. In fact, that’s one the things I love best about my job, getting to help people feel like themselves again.”

Reluctantly, Castiel finishes his shower, handing the shower head back to the bubbly OT as she turns off the water. Donna helps him transfer back to his chair, waiting to the side while he does his best to towel off, before drying his feet and hooking his boxers and flannel pants around his ankles. She pulls the garments up to Castiel’s knees for him, then lets him shimmy them up the rest of the way, leaning side-to-side as he tugs the waistbands a little higher with each shift. It’s a lengthy process, but Donna assures him in her chipper voice that it will get both easier and faster with time and practice. 

Feeling drained, but more content than he has in a week following his shower adventure, Castiel allows Donna to help him transfer back into his new bed, where he orders his dinner from a menu on his bedside table that boasts an impressive number of options. He selects the veggie burger with sweet potato fries and relaxes against his pillows as he waits for his meal. 

Unbidden, his thoughts drift to Dean and his upcoming visit. Castiel hopes the man wasn’t exaggerating when he said he’d be “good as new” by tonight. The last thing he wants is to be a burden to Dean: thoughtful, giving, unfairly attractive, rescues-people-from-actual-literal-goddamn-burning-buildings, _Dean_. _Who is your friend_, Castiel reminds himself firmly, but that doesn’t stop his traitorous brain from helpfully sending him the image of what Dean’s ass looked like filling out the jeans he’d worn during their last visit. 

Despite his inner turmoil, Castiel’s spirits are lightened by his first bite into his surprisingly tasty veggie burger and he actually finishes every bite of his meal as he awaits Claire and Gabriel’s nightly Facetime.

* * *

Hearing a baby’s squeal, followed by a quiet laugh, Dean stops outside the door to his friend’s new hospital room and peers inside. He sees Cas, sitting on top of the bed covers, legs stretched out in front of him. The man looks soft and slightly rumpled in his t-shirt and flannel pants, but a gummy smile lights up his face, making him look younger than Dean’s ever seen him. Even in the shitty fluorescent hospital lighting, Cas is handsome. His hair looks freshly washed, sticking out at angles, soft and fluffy without product. His brilliant, shining blue eyes are crinkled around the edges in mirth behind rectangular, black frames and the day’s scruff along his jawline only adds to the appeal. The new pajamas give Dean a better view of Cas’ body than the oversized, dingy hospital gown had. His dark gray t-shirt is tightly fitted, stretching across his chest and outlining the well-defined muscles there. The sleeves hug lean, but muscular arms and the flannel pants look soft and well-worn, but still pull taut across thick runner’s thighs where they’re lying _on top of his goddamn_ _hospital bed, Winchester, you fucking pervert_! 

Dean swallows and pulls his eyes back to the man’s face as another laugh widens Cas’ smile further. He’s obviously having his daily video chat with Claire and Dean’s not sure which is worse: interrupting or standing here in the doorway eavesdropping and checking Cas out like a creeper. Yeah, probably the second one. He’s about to back out of the room altogether to go wait by the nurse’s station when Cas looks up, locking Dean in place with those smiling blue eyes. He gestures for Dean to come in before turning back to his phone.

Dean moves to stand to the side of Cas’ bed, close enough to see the display in front of him, but far enough away to keep out of the video feed. On the small screen of the iPhone, he sees an absolutely gorgeous baby girl sitting on a lap that most likely belongs to Gabriel. Despite Gabriel’s attempts to get her to “wave to Daddy, Claire-Bear,” she seems more interested in playing with the smartphone. Soft blonde curls framing chubby pink cheeks keep getting blocked out by a close-up of a pudgy hand as Claire attempts to press the buttons and icons surrounding the call screen. Whatever she’s trying to accomplish clearly isn’t working, if her adorable pout is any indication. Striking blue eyes narrowed in concentration, she shoots the uncooperative device a glare that’s so familiar it makes Dean grin.

Cas sees it as well and chuckles as Gabriel picks the phone up and gives Cas a helpless shrug. “Sorry, bro. I tried, but she’s more interested in the phone than what’s happening on screen.”

“It’s okay Gabe. I’m sure this is far from the only time in her life that she’ll be more interested in a phone than in her father. At least now I’ll be able to blame you.”

Gabe sticks his tongue out at Cas’ teasing and turns the camera back toward Claire. “Okay munchkin, say goodbye to Daddy so Uncle Ga-Ga can get you ready for night-night.”

_Uncle Ga-Ga?_ Dean mouths to Cas with a smirk, who just grins and shakes his head.

“Good night, sweet girl,” Cas says to the phone, tracing over Claire’s tiny face with a fingertip. “Daddy loves you, so much.”

Blowing a final kiss at the screen, Cas disconnects the call and turns his face toward Dean.

“You didn’t have to hang up on my account,” he says softly.

“It’s okay,” Cas answers with a smile that’s smaller than the one he’d worn while Facetiming Claire, but no less warm. “It’s Claire’s bedtime anyway. We were about ten minutes away from her turning into a pumpkin if she doesn’t get her jammies and bottle.”

“I get it,” Dean jokes, “Sammy’s still that way. Keep the kid out past 9:30 on a work night and it’s a Toddlers and Tiaras level meltdown. The moms, not the kids.”

“Sam has more hair though,” he adds as an afterthought.

“Than who? The moms or the kids?” Cas asks, doing that goddamn adorable head tilt he does whenever something confuses or intrigues him.

Dean shrugs, “Both,” and Cas chuckles again.

“I think I’d like to meet Sam.”

“You will,” Dean responds confidently. “Speaking of meeting people, that was Claire, huh? She’s beautiful, Cas.”

“Thank you,” Cas answers, right before Dean adds shyly, “She looks a lot like you, you know.” 

He looks at Cas nervously, both because he basically just told Cas he thinks the man is beautiful and because Cas has never said that Claire’s his biological child. Those eyes and that scowl couldn’t have come from anyone else though. Dean’s sure of it.

The light blush that suffuses Cas’ cheeks tells Dean that he didn’t miss the compliment, but he ignores it, instead saying, “She does have quite a few of my features, yes.”

Dean snorts, “No kidding. I thought that iPhone was going to burst into flames with the way she was glaring at it. That’s you right over.”

Cas turns a glare on Dean so identical to the one Claire used on Gabe’s phone that Dean nearly falls out of his chair as he guffaws. “Yep, that’s the one!”

The sex-haired man in the hospital bed tries to hold onto his glare, but his blue eyes twinkle and the corners of his lips tick up, before he finally concedes defeat and laughs along with Dean. After a moment, Cas sobers.

“I miss her terribly,” he says, the light in his eyes dimming slightly before brightening again as he announces, “Gabriel’s bringing her to visit next weekend.”

“That’s awesome, man,” Dean grins. Silence stretches between them for a moment before Dean’s curiosity gets the better of him. He doesn’t have any right to be asking this, but it’s been on his mind and Dean’s desperate to know more about his new definitely-just-a-friend.

“Can I ask you something?” Dean asks carefully. Cas opens his mouth to respond, but Dean barrels on, “I mean, I know it’s none of my business and you can tell me to fuck off if you want. We haven’t really known each other that long and...”

“_Dean,” _Cas interrupts with a sideways smile, “You can ask.”

Dean stops rambling and takes a breath, before saying hesitantly, “I was just wondering about... Claire’s mom.”

Cas nods like he’d expected the question.

“Amelia was a surrogate for me and my ex,” he starts simply. “She and her husband Jimmy had had their own difficulties conceiving due to problems with Jimmy’s virility. They were blessed with twin boys through the use of in vitro fertilization and a sperm donor. Once the boys got a bit older, Amelia decided she wanted to give someone else the chance that she and Jimmy’s donor had given them. Bartholomew and I were connected with them through a fertility clinic, since we were in need of both a surrogate and an egg donor.”

He smiles, “Obviously, we used my genetic material for the IVF.”

Dean nods, taking in the information and mulling it over for a minute before looking back at Cas. He studies the man for a moment, who patiently studies him in return. Knowing what he wants to ask next, but knowing he _really_ doesn’t have the right to this information yet, Dean hesitates, deciding to be content with what he’s learned about Cas and Claire already today.

Cas however, anticipating Dean’s next question, asks it for him, “You’re wondering why Claire isn’t staying with her other father while I’m here.”

Dean nods, but adds, “You don’t have to tell me if you don’t want to. Like I said, it’s really none of my business.”

Frowning darkly, he adds, “Plus, it probably doesn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out the Cliff’s Notes version.”

Huffing a humorless laugh, Cas agrees, “You’re not wrong. The simplest explanation is that Claire doesn’t have another father.” At Dean’s slightly confused look, he adds, “Bartholomew left me four months before Claire was born. He was never included on her birth certificate or any other documentation about her life, except for our original surrogate contract with Amelia.”

“I probably would have let him out of the contract and taken on all of the remaining expenses myself, but Amelia wasn’t so generous. She held Bart to the original contract, so he had to pay for half of she and Claire’s medical expenses until I left the hospital with Claire when she was three days old. Since then, we’ve had no contact with Bart.”

Dean’s hands clench into fists at his sides as he wonders where he can find this Bart asshole now. If Cas cut off contact with the guy, he probably doesn’t have his info in his new phone. Dean is both disappointed and suspiciously pleased at that thought.

“What a dick,” he says instead of asking Cas for his ex-son-of-a-bitch’s address. “Good on Amelia, though. Asshole should’ve had to foot the whole bill, bailing on you like that.”

Cas shakes his head, “Honestly, I just wanted it over with as quickly and quietly as possible. I was suddenly facing single parenthood. I didn’t want a messy separation hanging over my head as well. Fortunately, we weren’t married, so aside from dividing up the furniture and breaking our lease, it didn’t take much for us to part ways. In retrospect, I probably should have seen his hesitance to buy a house or ‘prove our commitment with some meaningless piece of paper,’ as red flags, but...”

He shrugs helplessly and Dean nods his understanding, “Yeah, I get just wanting to move on. Did the dick at least give you an explanation for why he ghosted?”

Cas sighs, “He said he’d never actually wanted children, that he’d only agreed to fatherhood for my sake. He assumed he’d eventually be able to ‘make his peace’ with it. By the time he realized that would never happen, Amelia was already pregnant.”

After a pause, he adds, “I can’t really blame him, I suppose. There’s a lot of pressure in our society to raise a family. People make it seem like that’s what everyone is supposed to want and you’re somehow abnormal if two-point-five kids and a dog isn’t your idea of a happy life. It’s not Bart’s fault he wasn’t designed to want something like that.”

Dean stares at him, dumbfounded. _Is he fucking serious right now?_

“Uh, yeah, you sure as hell can blame him, Cas. How long were you with the guy?”

“Seven years.”

“Seven,” Dean scrubs a hand down his face incredulously, “_Seven years?”_

Cas nods. “We met junior year of college and I was about to turn 29 when he left.”

“So, this douchebag had _seven years_ to mention the fact that fatherhood wasn’t in the plans for him. _Seven _goddamn years to say, ‘hey, I don’t think the whole husband, kids, apple-pie-life-thing is for me,’ but he never said a word.”

At Cas’ silence, Dean falters. Shit, now _he’s_ the asshole.

“Sorry,” he says, rubbing the back of his neck sheepishly. “I probably shouldn’t call someone you cared about, someone you were gonna start a family with, a douchebag.”

Cas smiles wryly at that though, “It’s okay. Besides, you’re right. He _was _a douchebag, long before the Claire situation happened. Bartholomew was always a little pompous...”

“How could he not be, with a name like that?” Dean interrupts with a snort.

“He says to the man named ‘Castiel,’” responds Cas drily.

“Hey, your name is awesome. It says, ‘I’m classy, interesting, and a fuck ton smarter than you could ever hope to be.’ His name says, ‘I’m a giant tool.’”

Chuckling, but not disagreeing with the descriptions, Cas continues, “In college, he was focused and driven, which I found attractive. After college though, those qualities turned into an obsession with his career.”

“What does he do?” Dean asks, more because he wants to learn as much as he can about Cas’ history, not because he actually gives a damn about Douchey McDickface and his career.

“He’s a stockbroker,” Cas explains.

“In Kansas City? That can’t be the crème de le crème for stockbrokers,” comes Dean’s confused response. He would think a career-obsessed stockbroker would live somewhere a bit more exciting than Kansas.

“Not hardly,” Cas scoffs. “We lived in Chicago, although New York City was where Bart really wanted to be. I moved here after Claire was born to be closer to Gabriel. Clearly, it’s a good thing I did,” he says casting a wry glance toward where his legs lay, immobile, on the bed between them.

Dean wants to ask why Cas would move to be closer to his brother, rather than his parents, but somehow that seems an even more personal question than asking about Cas’ ex and he’s not sure they’re there yet. Plus, Dean’s not exactly ready to share that much of his own history with the other man and since Cas doesn’t offer the information, he refrains.

“So, what made you decide to become an English teacher?” he asks instead, diverting the conversation away from the more intimate topics of family and relationships. 

_For fuck’s sake, Winchester, this is a hospital visit, not a first date_, he reminds himself harshly.

Shrugging, Cas smiles nostalgically, “I’ve loved books for as long as I can remember. My adolescence was... difficult, and books were both my refuge and my closest friends. I also always excelled at school, so combining the two just seemed like that natural thing to do. Of course, loving a subject doesn’t necessarily equate to being able to teach it. Fortunately for me and my students, it turned out that I love teaching as well.”

“I bet you’re a great teacher,” Dean says with a soft smile that grows at Cas’ answering blush.

“Speaking of which,” Dean adds, pulling a battered paperback out of his jacket pocket, “I finally remembered to bring you that copy of _Sirens_ I promised you.”

Cas smiles broadly, reaching eagerly for the well-loved text and they spend the rest of Dean’s visit talking about lighter subjects (aside from a heated discussion on the appropriate treatment of our ink-and-paper friends. Dean argues that dog-eared pages and creased spines are signs of deep affection, while Cas sees such irreverent treatment as absolute sacrilege). And Dean may be imagining it, but he’s pretty sure he catches Cas checking out his ass as he heads out the door that evening. Either way, there’s an extra bounce in Dean Winchester’s step as he makes his way out of the hospital and back to the Impala.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warninsgs: House fire, trapped child, mild panic/trauma reaction regarding house fire.
> 
> So, what did you think of Cas' background? How was it seeing fire fighter Dean in action? 
> 
> Next week, it's Dean's turn for sharing and caring, plus guess what? More physical therapy for Cas. I actually can't wait for you to meet his new PT. Any guesses as to who it will be? 
> 
> Thanks again for reading!


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Time for that promised Dean backstory and we'll meet Cas' new PT.
> 
> Also, I'm REALLY terrible at summaries, if you haven't noticed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi everyone!
> 
> How are we all doing after last night's season premier? I watched it today (yes, I accomplished my goal of watching all of Season 14 last week) and I have to say, I'm feeling positive about Season 15. Don't get me wrong, I'm still sure they're going to hurt me, but I'm hopeful that it might be in a way I won't completely hate (clearly I've been reading too many BDSM fics). 😂
> 
> I'm excited to be posting this chapter. There's a lot going on in this one and I think you'll like it. I had a great time writing it. 
> 
> See chapter end notes for warnings.

** _Monday, September 17, 2018_ **

Castiel’s first full day in the rehabilitation hospital passes in a blur of mental and physical exhaustion. His morning starts early, with the breakfast he’d selected the night before being delivered at 6:30 AM. After that, he has a little time until his first therapy session starts at 8:00. He spends the time in between watching re-runs of _Charmed_ on TNT, something he’s always done on his rare sick days, and the familiarity brings him a surprising level of comfort, even surrounded as he is by the impersonal sterility of the hospital. 

Eight o’clock brings a far-too-cheerful Donna to his room for his “ADL” session, which she had told him the day before stands for “activities of daily living.” They work on showering again, with Donna teaching him how to use the reacher, as she’d promised yesterday. The device is a long, thin stick with one end resembling one of those arcade claws that never manages to snag that stuffed animal just sitting there on top of the rest with absolutely _nothing _obstructing it, until you’ve spent at least twelve times what the thing is worth. Fortunately, it works much better than the cursed claw game and Castiel feels his lips tilt upward in a small, pleased smile when he’s able to put on his boxers and pants completely independently, using the reacher in one hand to carefully hold the waistband by his feet, while his other hand helps lift each leg into its leg-hole. It’s a tedious and time-consuming process, but there is definitely something to be said for _not_ having to have someone else stoop down face-level with your genitals to help you into your underwear. 

Brushing his teeth and shaving over an actual sink and not just a basin is another novelty in which Castiel delights. Donna seems equally pleased, beaming at him periodically as she quickly and efficiently tidies the bathroom, piling wet towels and washcloths out of the way into the shower. Since Castiel doesn’t have a roommate, they don’t have to worry about anyone else needing the shower before the nursing techs get a chance to take the towels to the laundry. 

The entire ADL hour taken up by showering and dressing, Castiel clumsily wheels himself out into his room to see what Donna has planned for his occupational therapy session from nine to ten. Smiling as always, she asks to see him transfer from the chair to his bed and back again. Wheeling himself over to the bed, he parks himself at an angle to the edge of the bed like Donna had shown him yesterday, before remembering to lock the wheelchair’s brakes. The bed’s already lowered to wheelchair height from his pre-shower transfer, so Donna coaches him through removing the armrest closest to the bed and then using his upper body to scoot himself from the chair to the mattress. Once she’s helped him lift his legs into bed, Donna uses the mechanical bed’s buttons to recline it to a normal sleeping position, then asks Castiel to get back into his chair.

Trying not to appear frustrated at having to repeat what she’d just seen him do an hour ago, Castiel presses the incline button on the remote that controls his bed, the room’s lights, and the TV, until the bed has reached its most upright position. Then he grips the side rail in both hands, using the rail to heave himself up into a sitting position as Donna lowers his legs. After that, it’s just a reversal of the seated transfer she’d coached him through a few minutes earlier.

Situating himself back in the wheelchair, Castiel looks up in surprise as Donna asks with an innocent smile, “That was great, Castiel, but tell me, does your bed at home have side rails?”

“No?” he answers hesitantly, already suspecting where she’s headed with this line of questioning.

“Aaaand, I’m going to guess it doesn’t recline up and down either, huh?”

“No,” he sighs, “it’s a regular bed.”

Smile turning slightly wicked, she chirps, “Then I reckon we’d better find somewhere to practice that’s a bit more like what you’ll be working with at home in a couple weeks.”

Wheeling Castiel out of his room and down the hall, the bouncy OT continues, “Don’t get used to the rock star treatment there, Cas. Normally I’d be making you wheel yourself, but I think you’re going to need all your energy for this.” Leaning over him, she shoots Castiel a wink that he’s certain means nothing good for him.

Twenty minutes later, he knows he was right. “I knew it wasn’t possible for someone to actually be _that_ nice,” he grouses from where he’s staring up at the fluorescent lights above, lying flat on his back on a standard, full size bed. The occupational therapist had taken him to one of the hospital’s rehab gyms, which despite its name, doesn’t really resemble a gym at all. The large, open room with mock-wood laminate flooring and pale green and yellow walls is set up to look like a makeshift home. From his current location in the bedroom area, Castiel can also see the gym’s “living room” with a sofa and plush chair; a faux-bathroom complete with a bathtub and home-issue shower chair; and a kitchen that while not operational, does have cabinets, a refrigerator, and oven that all open and close realistically. He knows from his trip into the gym that there’s also a laundry closet with a working washer and drier patients can use to wash their personal clothing and belongings.

Donna snickers from where she’s seated by his feet at the edge of the mattress, one leg pulled up and folded beneath her. For just a moment, Castiel hates her for being able to sit like that so easily, her muscles and limbs responding and doing her bidding without any conscious thought on her part. A second later, Castiel chides himself internally. It’s not Donna’s fault he’s here and she only wants to help him. This is just his pain and exhaustion talking. 

Either sensing something from his tone or being able to read the tightening lines in his face, Donna asks, “What’s your pain level now?”

“Six,” Castiel answers after a moment’s consideration. He’d been a four when they started this morning, but the last couple of hours have taken their toll, plus he knows he should be due for another dose of meds soon.

Nodding, Donna responds, “In that case, why don’t we get you back in your chair and we’ll just work on some easy upper body exercises for the rest of our time?”

Just managing to suppress his relieved sigh, Castiel instead takes in a deep, steadying breath before turning on his side and positioning his arms beneath him to push himself up to a sitting position while Donna lowers his legs. What would have been nothing for him just over ten days ago leaves his arms weak and trembling now. His week of forced bed rest while he awaited and recovered from his surgery has weakened far more than just his legs.

He isn’t able to hold back his sigh when he slides into his chair and is thankful when Donna keeps to her promise and they spend the remainder of the session working with light hand weights and long, elastic resistance bands that Castiel pulls and stretches against to rebuild the muscles in his arms and hands. Even the lighter exercises leave him feeling drained though, and he quickly falls asleep once he’s settled back into his bed, napping until his lunch and pain meds arrive at eleven, reruns of some paranormal television show about a couple of brothers playing in the background.

Waking only long enough to eat with his meds, Castiel naps until he hears what must be the voice of his physical therapist, arriving for his first PT session at one o’clock.

“Knock, knock!” 

He’s not sure what he expected a physical therapist to look like, but he’s pretty sure this pale, gangly-limbed youth isn’t it. At 30, Castiel isn’t exactly advanced in age himself, but this... man doesn’t even look as if he needs to shave on a daily basis yet. He supposes he’d expected someone whose career is built around building and strengthening the muscles and physical health of others to look, well, like he’d actually stepped inside a gym himself.

“Hello,” Castiel greets cautiously as he inclines the mechanical bed into a sitting position.

“Howdy there, hombre! I’m Garth and I’m here for your physical therapy, or as we in the ‘biz’ call it, ‘PT.’” A smile breaks out on Garth’s sallow face as his lanky form makes its way over to the bed in a saunter that’s somehow both rolling and awkwardly jerky, like a recently born foal that’s mostly figured out this walking thing, but still misses a step here and there. 

Pushing stringy hair out of gray-blue eyes, Garth positions Castiel’s wheelchair next to the bed before giving him a look so reminiscent of an over-eager puppy that Castiel half expects the man’s tongue to loll out of his mouth.

“All right, hombre! Let’s roll!”

Hoping his doubt isn’t broadcast in his expression, Castiel begins his transfer to the waiting chair being held in place by a pair of ashen, scrawny arms.

Thirty minutes later, Castiel has decided he has really got to stop underestimating these people. Behind Garth’s disarming grin and unintimidating demeanor lurks the world’s friendliest sadist. 

After watching Castiel wheel himself around the hospital, across carpet and linoleum, and up and down the building’s long entrance and exit ramps several times, Garth takes him to another gym, one that looks more like the gyms he’s familiar with. A variety of exercise equipment lines the beige walls, but unlike a traditional gym, they’re interspersed with low mat tables whose height can be adjusted using foot pedals tucked underneath each table. Garth cheerfully directs Castiel to wait by one of the tables, then leaves him to gather some equipment.

Returning with that lanky saunter, the man cheerfully deposits a large medicine ball in Castiel’s lap.

“We’ll start with some straight arm holds. You can alternate lifting over your head and holding the ball straight out in front of you,” Gath says before adding as an afterthought, “Let’s start with twenty.”

Mouth gaping, Castiel glances between Garth and the medicine ball, “How much does this thing weigh?”

“Fifteen pounds.” Castiel blinks. Donna had him working with five-pound hand weights.

Raising both eyebrows and placing hands on narrow hips, Garth asks pointedly, “You said you’ve got a little one right? How much does your baby weigh?”

Thinking of his eighteen-pound eight-month-old, Castiel sighs and lifts the medicine ball.

“One,” counts the cheerful bastard across from him.

* * *

**_Tuesday, September 18, 2018_ **

Tuesday passes much the same as Monday. Donna helps him with his shower, although it’s more just her supervising now than anything. In fact, she delights Castiel after his ADL session by announcing that she now thinks it’s safe for him to shower independently, so long as a nurse or tech is there to supervise his transition to and from the shower. Castiel doesn’t bother to suppress his gleeful grin as she updates his status on the whiteboard across from his bed. Any increase in independence and privacy is a thing worth celebrating. He rewards himself with a chocolate ice cream at lunch time, along with a text to Dean.

Today, 11:32 AM

You SENT:

Guess who gets to shower without an audience from now on?

His phone dings with Dean’s reply a few minutes later, as he’s finishing off the last of his Styrofoam cup of ice cream.

Today, 11:39 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

Dude, that’s great! 

The audience thing sounds pretty kinky, but a man’s shower time is even more sacred than pissing.

Today, 11:40 AM

You SENT:

How do you figure that?

Today, 11:42 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

I mean, guys piss in front of other guys all the time at urinals right?

I don’t know about you, but I do things in the shower that I definitely don’t do in front of other guys.

As Castiel blushes brilliantly at both the connotation of Dean’s words and the image of a soapy Dean enjoying his private “shower time,” his phone dings again.

Today, 11:44 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

Well, not in front of just ANY guy at least.

_Fuck._ Now Castiel is imagining himself in the shower with Dean, watching, but not allowed to touch as the firefighter runs a foam-covered hand down his chest, trailing bubbles across sculpted abs before gripping his proud, erect cock and running his hand over it in long, smooth strokes. 

Almost grateful that the combination of traumatic injury, pain, and narcotics seem to have suppressed his libido for the time being, Castiel shakes his head clear of the image (Dean is his _friend, _he again reminds his disobedient brain) and texts Dean back.

Today, 11:49 AM

You SENT:

Sadly, I think it will be some time before THAT is of particular concern.

Today, 11:50 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

😢

Castiel grins at the emoji. He never would have expected the macho firefighter to be the kind of texter who would use emojis, but he finds it strangely endearing. The affectionate thought is quickly chased from his mind, however, by the picture message that follows Dean’s emoji-response.

Today, 11:51 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

Castiel laughs so hard the movement tugs at the stitches in his side and belly, cutting off his laughter with a sharp hiss.

Today, 11:54 AM

You SENT: 

You just made me laugh so hard I hurt my incisions, you asshole.

Today, 11:55 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

Tough. I will never apologize for a Futurama reference.

Today, 11:54 AM

You SENT: 

Fair enough.

After that, they spend some time debating the relative merits of _Futurama_ compared to _Family Guy_, both agreeing easily that while_ Futurama_ is the superior show, Stewie Griffin is by far the best character between the two. Upon informing Dean that he needs to get ready for his next physical therapy session (with _Garth_, he cringes internally), Castiel receives a response that makes him smile brightly.

Today, 12:27 PM

Dean Winchester SENT:

Hey, I’ve got grocery shopping to do today and dinner plans with Sam and Jess tonight, but I don’t work again until tomorrow evening, so I could stop by before my shift tomorrow if that’s okay with you?

Today, 12:28 PM

You SENT: 

Of course, Dean. 

I’ll see you tomorrow.

Today, 12:29 PM

Dean Winchester SENT:

😊

Castiel glances at the whiteboard and sends a final text to Dean, letting the other man know his therapy schedule for the next day so he’ll be sure to visit at a time when Castiel is in his room, then presses his call button for a nurse or technician to come assist him with transferring to his wheelchair so he can use the restroom before PT. The thought of needing bathroom assistance reminds him of the photo message from Dean again and the resulting smile stays with Castiel through his entire PT session with Garth, even when the sweet-faced asshole adds two new exercises to their regimen.

* * *

**_Wednesday, September 19, 2018_ **

Wednesday is not a good day.

Castiel wakes sore and irritable, sleep the night before having been made nearly impossible by his muscle cramps and leg spasms, despite the extra pain meds and hot packs he’d requested from the nurses. Finding the normally tasty veggie omelet unappetizing this morning, he chugs down the tepid, bland, hospital-quality coffee, longing for the espresso of his favorite coffee shop. 

He presses his call button, letting the bored voice that answers on the other end know that he’s ready to use the restroom and have his shower. The bodiless voice informs him that his nurses and techs are on med rounds right now and someone will be in to assist him “as soon as possible.” The reminder that Castiel can’t even get out of bed to use the toilet when he needs to, as dependent upon someone else for this basic need as his infant daughter, stings more than usual this morning. 

Nearly twenty minutes later, his nurse, a sweet but no-nonsense young woman named Alex, brings Castiel his meds and helps him transfer to the shower. Naturally, since today is his first day showering on his own, he drops the hand-held shower head, which has the string for the emergency call button wrapped around it. Who in their right mind would design a handicap accessible shower with the call button on the opposite side from the shower bench is completely beyond Castiel, but he spends the next ten minutes until a tech pops in to check on him vividly picturing a number of suitable tortures as punishment, several of which involve Garth and the sock puppet he uses with his pediatric patients, Mr. Fizzles.

A couple of hours later, he has the unfortunate experience of coming face-to-face with the aforementioned puppet. Despite his heightened pain and irritability, Castiel had managed to push through his OT session with Donna with minimal wincing or growling. He’s having a much harder time with PT, however, and his seemingly benign task-master is not easily fooled. 

“What’s your pain level, Castiel?” asks Garth, furrowing his brows in concern as Castiel visibly struggles with the ten-pound weights he is supposed to be hefting in an overhead shoulder press. 

“I’m fine,” Castiel nearly snarls, “I was able to do this yesterday.”

Looking nonplussed, Garth reaches into the pocket of his oversized sweatshirt and pulls out the disturbingly dingy looking sock puppet. 

“If you won’t talk to me, maybe you’ll talk to Mister Fizzles. I usually save him for the kiddos, but amazingly, he’s just as effective at getting answers out of adults.” 

“What’s your pain level, Castiel?” asks Mr. Fizzles in his high-pitched voice, inexplicably accented with a slight Southern drawl.

Glaring at Garth, he answers, “Three.”

Garth returns his flat stare.

“Mister Fizzles can sense when you’re being a liiiaaar,” sing-songs the sock puppet loudly.

Seeing the other patients and therapists in the gym looking their way, Castiel cringes before dropping his gaze and admitting, “Six.”

“In that case,” Garth says in his normal voice, which Castiel usually finds grating, but is a soothing balm after Mr. Fizzle’s, “we’ll stick to working with resistance bands and stretches for the rest of today.”

Sensing his feeling of defeat, he claps his hand on the wheelchair-bound man’s shoulder, “You were able to use those weights yesterday and you’ll probably be able to use them again tomorrow, but not if you push too hard and injure yourself further today. Progress isn’t always a straight line,” he finishes sagely and Castiel feels a surge of affection for the odd man, though it’s somewhat buried beneath his heavier feelings of gloom and pain.

Back in his room, Castiel elects to stay in his wheelchair for lunch, knowing from an earlier text that Dean plans to visit between lunchtime and Castiel’s ADL session, moved to the afternoon since he no longer needs Donna’s help with his morning routine.

As he slowly eats his lunch, Castiel watches the clock, counting down the minutes until his next dose of pain medication while his pain steadily rises.

* * *

Dean’s still riding the high of yesterday’s text conversation with Cas as he pulls into the parking lot of the rehab hospital at midday. He’d been afraid he’d tripped too far over the line into flirting territory when he made his “shower time” comment, mentally flaying himself for making his friend uncomfortable until he’d gotten Cas’ response a few minutes later. Figuring, “in for a pound,” and hoping to lighten the other man’s mood, he’d responded with the _Futurama_ meme and the conversation had taken off from there. 

Whether they’re debating classic literature or who’s the more badass female cartoon lead, Lois Griffin or Turanga Leela (it ended up being a draw, with the two men agreeing it was an impossible debate to resolve without getting a woman’s perspective), he loves talking to Cas. The English teacher is clever, witty, and thoughtful, regardless of their topic of discussion. He argues over animated characters with as much gravitas and mindfulness as he gives Shakespeare and Vonnegut. Dean realizes he’s quickly becoming more than slightly enamored with his new friend, but he figures as long as he keeps his little crush to himself, it’s not hurting anyone. 

His good mood flees faster than Sammy faced with a clown wielding barber’s shears, when he turns into Cas’ room and spots the man seated in his wheelchair, body curled forward upon itself, his entire profile radiating pain. Crossing the room in three strides, Dean drops to one knee next to his friend’s wheelchair, hovering as close as he can, but resisting the urge to touch lest he hurt the other man more. 

“Cas, buddy, what’s going on?”

Cas grunts in acknowledgement of Dean’s presence, but doesn’t lift his head or open his eyes, keeping them squeezed closed against the pain. He shakes his head a couple of times, indicating that he’s unable to explain.

Slipping into first responder mode, Dean keeps his voice level as he asks, “Castiel, can you look at me? Open your eyes.”

Responding to the authoritative tone, Cas forces his eyes open and Dean locks onto those beautiful blues, currently shining with agonized tears. 

“Can I touch you?” he asks, glancing down to where Cas’ hand is clenching the arm of his wheelchair.

His friend doesn’t answer verbally, but unclenches his fingers with some effort and stretches them toward Dean. Dean doesn’t hesitate before closing his hand around the other man’s and squeezing firmly before asking, “What’s your pain level?”

“Eight,” Cas manages to grit out.

Dean’s eyes widen. With the narcotics they have Cas on, there’s no way his pain should be that bad. Dean’s heard him tell nurses during past visits that his pain’s usually at a three or four. 

Dean reaches for Cas’ call button where it sits on the bedside table in front of him, but is stopped when he feels a returning squeeze from the English teacher.

He looks back to Cas, who explains haltingly, “Already called. Nurses are all tied up. Be here soon.”

Scowling, Dean asks, “Soon? Just how late are they?”

Cas glances up at the clock before answering wetly, “An hour.”

“Fuck,” Dean swears quietly before pushing the call button in spite of Cas’ protest.

“How can I help you?” answers a slightly strained voice.

“You can help me by getting Cas’ meds. Did you know his _pain meds_ are an hour late? The guy’s practically curled up in the fetal position in here. He’s in so much damn pain he can hardly move or talk!” Dean knows his voice is rising with each word, but he can’t help it. He feels Cas’ fingers twitch in his and reins in his temper.

“I know, sir. It’s been a crazy afternoon and all our nurses have been tied up with other patients. Castiel’s nurse is getting his meds now. She should be in in a few minutes.”

“Thanks,” Dean grits out, not sounding at all sincere and caring about that fact even less.

He turns back to Cas and softens his voice, “You hear that, man? Just a few more minutes.”

Cas give him a jerky nod and Dean scoots closer, leaning forward to rest his forehead against the other man’s, the same way he had back in Cas’ SUV the day they met. It had calmed Cas then and it has a similar effect now. Cas’ pained breathing slows and deepens as he presses his forehead back into Dean’s. Cas’ skin feels damp against Dean’s own, and he resists the urge to press a kiss against his friend’s clammy brow. Instead, he settles for squeezing Cas’ hand again and matches his breathing, slow and even.

Dean’s not sure how long they sit like that before he hears the bustling of a nurse rushing into the room with her med cart, looking frazzled. Alex, her name tag says, heads straight for Cas, thrusting a cup of water at Dean as she readies Cas’ pain meds.

“I’m sorry,” she says, a little breathless, “I had a new admission and then an emergency with another patient and I couldn’t get away. It’s been a madhouse around here, so no one else could cover for me either.”

Dean opens his mouth around an angry retort, but at Cas’ imploring squeeze, he closes it again.

Handing Cas a small cup of pills and watching dutifully as he swallows them, she speaks softly, “There. In a few minutes, the pain should lessen enough for you to get back in bed. You can press your call button and I’ll come back in to help...”

“I’ve got him,” Dean says gruffly over her.

Glancing at him, Alex doesn’t argue, but her lips thin slightly. Looking to Cas, she asks, “Is that okay with you, Castiel?”

Cas nods, sending a look that’s probably shooting for reassuring, but isn’t much more than a pained grimace, at the nurse.

Nodding, Alex gathers her med cart and retreats back out of the room. 

Hearing a sniffle, Dean refocuses on Cas, alarmed to see tears leaking from the other man’s eyes. Feeling his heart twist in his chest, he lifts Cas hand to switch it from his left to his right, freeing up his left hand to rub the back of the other man’s neck. Cas’ face reddens and Dean figures he’s probably embarrassed about the tears, even though he doesn’t need to be. Fuck, Cas has been through hell. The pelvis is one of the most painful bones to break and Cas fucking demolished his. Dean’s seen burly firefighters cry from less, including Dean himself.

After a few long, silent minutes, Cas lets out a shaky breath and says hoarsely, “I think I can make it back to bed now.”

Dean nods, “Just tell me what to do.” Suddenly realizing he’d just assumed Cas would be okay with Dean helping him, he rushes to add, “Unless you want to call the nurse back. I didn’t mean to talk for you earlier. I’m kind of an overprotective ass sometimes.” Looking down, he rubs the back of his neck sheepishly.

“It’s fine, Dean,” Cas assures him with a slightly wan smile. His expression looks pained, but genuine, and Dean relaxes. He lets Cas coach him through angling the wheelchair against the edge of the bed and locking the brakes, then slowly lifts Cas’ legs into the bed.

Once Cas is situated, Dean reaches out by instinct and smooths the hair back from where it rests against Cas’ brow, still furrowed in discomfort. Embarrassed by the intimate gesture, Dean pulls his hand back as if burned and blushes furiously, looking anywhere but the man in the bed.

They sit in awkward silence for a minute, until Dean (_Say something Winchester, for Christ’s sake!) _clears his throat and asks, “How’s the pain?”

“Getting better, but slowly,” Cas answers, sounding more relaxed than before, but still more strained than his usual gravelly baritone. “I could use a distraction,” he adds. “Talk to me.”

“Of course,” Dean hastens, “about what?”

Cas ponders this for a moment, before turning his head toward Dean and replying, “Last time you visited, you asked why I became an English teacher. What made you choose to become a firefighter?” He looks almost hesitant, like he expects the answer might be something more serious than his own childhood reasons for choosing to surround himself with books and schooling, and he’s not exactly wrong.

Dean takes a deep breath. He doesn’t often tell this story, hating the pitying looks he usually gets as a result. He doesn’t have to tell Cas _everything_, he reasons to himself, but he’s sure as hell not gonna lie to the guy either. Cas has shared so much of himself with Dean already, some deliberately and some (like today’s adventures in shitty pain management) whether he wanted to or not, simply by the nature of their friendship. The guy deserves a little honesty in return, no matter how hard it is for Dean.

Seeing Dean’s hesitation for what it is, Cas settles back into his pillows, shooting him a tired smile, “It’s okay. You don’t have to tell me.”

Selfish asshole that he is, Dean considers taking the out for a moment, before shaking his head, “Nah, I don’t mind you knowing. Just hard to talk about is all.” He sighs, leaning forward to rest his forearms on his knees.

“When I was sixteen, our house caught on fire. Fire started in the ceiling above Sammy’s room. Faulty wiring,” Dean says to Castiel’s blankets. “Sam was twelve and he was one hell of a heavy sleeper. Mom ran into his room to wake him up, me and Dad right behind her. She got there first though and pulled Sammy out of bed, pushing him in front of her, toward Dad.”

Dean takes a deep breath, wishing for a moment that he had a tumbler of whiskey in his hand, or hell, maybe the whole goddam fifth, before he continues, “Just as Sam got to Dad, we all heard this loud crack and looked up. A support beam fell through Sam’s ceiling, landed right across his bed. Dad pulled Sam out of the way in time, but Mom was on the other side. Dad shoved Sam at me and told me to get him out...”

Dean trails off, his throat closing up at the memory of seeing his mom across that burning support beam, wreathed in flame as burning debris from the attic fell down around her.

Clearing his constricted throat and ignoring the burn of Cas’ eyes on him, he shrugs, “Things got hinky after that. In the end, Dad, Sam, and I made it out. Mom didn’t.”

Usually, when he has to tell this story, he keeps it brief (“Lost my mom in a house fire when I was sixteen”), talking with the detached distance trauma survivors use to try to block out the worst of the pain, as if it isn’t always with them, every goddamn moment. With Cas though, the words come easier. He isn’t sure why. Maybe it’s just that Cas knows what it’s like to lose someone. Or maybe because he’s been through his own recent trauma. Maybe it’s because they’ve already shared a few moments that somehow felt just as intimate as this. Whatever it is, it makes it possible for Dean to look up when Cas says his name.

“Dean,” blue eyes bore into green, “I’m sorry you had to go through that and I’m so sorry you lost your mother. Is she why you decided to become a firefighter?”

“Eventually,” Dean hedged, then sighed. He might as well finish the story. “Things, uh... things got real bad there for a while. I mean, you’d expect things to be bad after something like that, right?”

At Castiel’s solemn nod, he continues, “But, uh, things never really got better for us. My dad...” Dean swallows, “he never got over losing my mom like that. I don’t know exactly what he saw after he sent me and Sammy out of the room, but after almost twelve years on the job I can probably guess, and it was bad. Real bad. Bad enough that it haunted him. Chased him into the bottom of a bottle and kept him there for the next decade, until he wrapped his car around a tree.”

His dad had been drunk when he’d had his accident, but hell, he’d been driving drunk for years by that point. They’d probably never know if it truly had been an accident, if he’d lost control of the vehicle the way the police report read, or if it’d been deliberate. Dean wasn’t sure which one he wanted it to be.

“Sammy bounced back pretty well, you know? Kids are resilient and all. Buried himself in school work and was a bit more reserved, more serious, than most teenagers, maybe, but he did all right, all things considered. Me... well, I didn’t bounce so well.”

Breaking away from Cas’ eyes, Dean looked down at the floor and muddled on, “Started failing school, dropped out eventually. Probably would have been headed the same direction as my old man if Bobby hadn’t stepped in.”

“Who’s Bobby?” Cas asks gently. He’s been quiet throughout most of Dean’s story, maybe sensing how Dean needs to get this out fast, before he loses his nerve.

“An old friend of my parents. Kind of a surrogate uncle and also the fire chief for the Overland Park Fire Department. He looked in on us after Mom died, especially once Dad’s drinking got real bad. When he saw me floundering, he started bringing me around the firehouse. I hated it at first. Was the last place I wanted to be, you know? Then one day, I was sittin’ there as one of the companies came back from a call. I watched as these tired men and women practically fell off the damn truck, looking dirty and worn down, but happy and wired at the same time. Then Bobby turns on the TV in his office, turns it to the six o’clock news, and I see coverage of the job they just went out on. It was a house fire. House was a total loss, burnt damn near to the ground, but there in front of it, was a family of four: Mom, Dad, and two girls. They all made it out. Those girls’ll never have to go through what Sam and I did, and it was because of those tired, dirty firefighters.”

He looks back up at Cas, “I couldn’t save my mom. I couldn’t save my dad. Hell, by that point I was pretty sure I couldn’t even save myself, but maybe I could save someone else’s family instead. Bobby helped me get my GED and then helped me apply to the Fire Academy.”

Hand on the back of his neck, he finishes lamely, “So yeah, uh, that’s about it.”

“Dean Winchester,” Dean’s head lifts against his will at the quiet command in Cas’ voice, “you are amazing.” 

Cas looks at him in awe, but his eyes are glazed with the sheen Dean knows means the pain killers are now in full effect.

With a quiet chuckle, Dean does what Dean does best and deflects, “How’s the pain now there, bud? Feelin’ better?”

Cas’ pain-killer dazed eyes squint at him in what’s becoming a rather familiar glare, “Amazing and infuriating. Yes, the pain meds are working, Dean, but they don’t make me delusional, just honest.”

“Honest, huh?” Dean asks with a grin, “Does this mean now’s a good time to ask some embarrassing questions?”

“You know,” Cas says quickly, “I’m feeling a bit sleepy. I think maybe I need a nap.”

Dean chuckles again, but Cas really does look tired. His eyes are drooping and Dean has no doubt that his friend will be dead to the world in minutes. Standing from his chair, he reaches down to give Cas’ hand one last squeeze just as a vibrant blonde woman breezes into the room, her features falling abruptly from cheerful to concerned when she sees the state Cas is in.

“Heya there, Castiel, not feelin’ so hot today, huh?”

Castiel shakes his head minutely and Dean explains, “His last dose of pain meds were an hour late. He had a rough morning.”

Nodding, the chipper woman says soothingly, “In that case, how about you rest up today and we’ll just extend a couple of our other sessions this week to make up the time.”

Suddenly turning on Dean, she sticks out her hand with an abrupt, “I’m Donna by the way, Cas’ occupational therapist. And who might your handsome self be?”

“Uh, Dean. Winchester. I’m a friend of Cas’.” Dean answers uncertainly.

“Well, it’s nice to meetcha there, Dean-o! Cas, you rest up and I’ll see you bright and early tomorrow, alrighty?”

At Cas’ weak nod, the therapist bounces back out of the room and Dean makes his goodbyes to Cas, who’s already slipping under as Dean slips out into the hallway.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Chapter Warnings: extreme pain/distress, discussion/description of past character deaths in a house fire and car accident involving drunk driving
> 
> Notes:
> 
> So, what did you think of my PT? I loved reading all of your guesses in the comments for Chapter 5. One person guessed correctly, which means my character choice was as unexpected as I'd hoped! A lot of folks guessed Jody, but I actually already used her as the nurse who kicks Dean out of Cas' hospital room. Meg was another common guess and she was a good one, but she'll show up later in the story in a different role. 
> 
> Garth might seem like an odd choice for a PT, but I based my choice on an actual PT assistant I had during my outpatient PT. I used to call him the world's friendliest sadist. A piece of advice: don't tease your seemingly friendly PT in front of his coworkers. Pretty sure that's how I ended up having to do mountain climbers. 
> 
> We learned in this chapter what Cas (and me!) like to do when we have a sick day. What's your favorite sick day routine or comfort item?
> 
> Also I'd love to know what you thought of the season premier! Just try to avoid spoilers please, for those who haven't been able to watch yet.
> 
> Next week: A special visit that Cas (along with many of you) has very much been looking forward to!


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas receives a much-awaited visit, but it doesn't quite go as planned...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> I hope you've all had a lovely week! It was a fairly eventful week for me. On Monday I drove myself to a meeting about an hour and a half from my house, which is the furthest I've driven since my accident. On Tuesday, I had my final ortho appointment and officially received the all clear! Last night I actually went out and socialized... with other people and everything! So really, it's been a banner week here, folks. XD
> 
> I don't say it nearly enough, but thank you to the incredible [EllenofOz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz) for her excellent beta work and endless encouragement. ❤
> 
> Enough rambling from me, on to the chapter! 
> 
> See end notes for warnings.

** _Thursday, September 20, 2018 – Saturday, September 22, 2018_ **

“So,” Donna starts in her most chipper gosh-dontcha-just-love-mornings voice, “who was that total hunk of man-meat in your room yesterday? That your beau? He sure is a cutie-patootie, and has a cutie-patootie too, if you don’t mind my saying so.”

She’s kneeling above Cas on a mat table in the same gym he usually visits with Garth for PT, flexing and stretching his ankle to work out a muscle cramp in his Achilles tendon. 

“Dean’s just a friend,” Castiel answers in his best it’s-way-too-fucking-early-to-have-this-conversation-on-one-cup-of-the-mud-water-this-place-calls-coffee, voice.

It shouldn’t be possible to stare down such a cute, upturned nose, but Donna manages it. “I was born at night, Castiel, not last night,” she scoffs. 

“I’m being serious. Dean and I are just friends,” he argues, hissing at the stretch in his tight ankle.

“Sure,” Donna agrees easily, “except my ex-husband had a friend he looked at like that fella looks at you and that’s why he’s now my _ex_-husband.”

“Your ex-husband is a dick,” Castiel says flatly, “but Dean and I are still just friends.”

“Well, you’re right on one of those counts at least,” retorts the perky blonde.

“Dean’s not interested in me that way and even if he was, I’m not interested in him.”

“Oooh, now you’re oh for two though, because I’m pretty sure I’ve never blushed like _that_ over a friend before,” she teases.

Castiel glares at her, feeling his already rosy face flush an even deeper shade of red. Okay, so he has a small, completely manageable crush on Dean. It’s just because the man is maddeningly handsome and, hello, a _firefighter._ The fact that he was literally Castiel’s hero probably doesn’t help matters, but that’s it. It’s just a superficial crush, one that Castiel is sure will fade in time. He resolutely ignores the voice in the back of his mind asking why, if that’s the case, does his crush seem to get stronger every time he talks to Dean?

“Maybe you just don’t have any attractive friends,” he grumbles bitterly.

“Oh, so you _do_ think he’s attractive!”

Castiel stares at her, “I said I’m not interested. I didn’t say I was blind.”

She chuckles at that, lowering Castiel’s legs to the floor as he pushes himself upright with much more ease than he had just a couple of days ago.

Momentarily forgetting Donna’s teasing, he smiles, “That was much easier than last time.”

Donna grins, “Oh yeah, you’re doing great! You’ll be amazed how quickly you improve, especially if you keep up with all your exercises once you go home.”

Home. Castiel thinks longingly of his apartment, his memory foam mattress, and most of all, his daughter. Only two more days until he gets to see Claire again and he can’t wait. Charlie’s coming with Gabe and Claire, “to document their reunion for posterity,” she says, but really he thinks she just wants to get Cas being a complete blubbery mess on video, which is absolutely what is going to happen. They’ve been Facetiming every night, of course, but Claire still doesn’t really grasp the concept of video chatting and seeing her on his tiny phone screen just can’t compare to the solid weight of her chubby baby body in his arms or the smell of baby shampoo in her blonde curls.

Castiel tells Donna about Claire’s upcoming visit and they spend the rest of his OT session amiably trading baby stories: Castiel’s about Claire, of course, and Donna’s about her niece, Wendy. Before he knows it, he’s wheeling back to his room while Donna walks at his side, pleasantly surprised at how energized he still feels after his session, especially given how badly he had suffered yesterday. He’s relieved to know that Garth was right the day before and his increased pain had just been a temporary setback, not his new normal. 

As he wheels into his room, he’s surprised to see Dean stretched out in the chair next to his bed, legs crossed in front of him and hands folded across his stomach, upturned face watching Cupcake Wars on Castiel’s TV. 

“Dean?” 

“Oh hey, Cas!” Dean’s expression brightens as he looks down from the TV and fixes his eyes on Castiel. 

“That’s oh for three there Castiel, because you surely must be blind if you can’t see _that_,” Donna murmurs behind him before chuckling and moving on down the hallway.

Ignoring her, Castiel wheels into the room. 

“What are you doing here?” he asks in confusion, “Didn’t you work last night?”

“Um, yeah. My shift ended about an hour ago. Just thought I’d check-in with you on my way home.” Looking a little uncomfortable, he adds, “You worried me a bit yesterday. Just wanted to make sure you were feeling better.” Dean’s hand finds the back of his neck in that automatic, nervous gesture that Castiel is starting to find especially endearing.

“Thank you, Dean. That’s very sweet of you, but you really didn’t have to come out here. I know you must be exhausted. You should be home, resting,” he scolds lightly.

Picking up a lidded paper cup from the bedside table, Dean dangles it out in front of him like a peace offering, or more accurately, a bribe, shaking it gently side-to-side and sing-songing, “I brought you coffee from that place you told me about by your school.”

Eyes widening, Castiel reaches for the coffee with grabby hands, “I take it back. You definitely should have come here.”

Dean chuckles softly, but Castiel ignores him as he wraps his fingers around the warmth of the paper cup with the familiar coffee-drinking genie logo and inhales the nutty aroma of his favorite roast from I Dream of Beanie. Closing his eyes as he takes his first sip, he can’t help the quiet moan that escapes him at his first blissful taste of non-hospital coffee since that Starbucks Jessica brought him in the ICU.

Opening his eyes, he blushes at Dean’s elevated eyebrows.

“Should I give you two a minute?” the firefighter asks.

Leveling him with his most serious gaze, Castiel drops his voice to a lower register and deadpans, “That’s not nearly enough time for me to do even half of the indecent things I’d like to do to this cup of coffee.”

Dean’s eyebrows climb higher, “It sounds like you’ve given this some thought.”

“I have a list,” Castiel agrees with a nod as he takes another sip.

“Huh. Never thought I’d be jealous of a cartoon genie, but here we are,” Dean quips and _shit. _ Was that a flirtation? It was. This is _flirting. _Dean is flirting with him. Is _he_ flirting with _Dean_? He is. 

Blush deepening, Castiel finds himself at a loss for words. He knows what he _wants_ to say. He wants to keep flirting with Dean. It’s been a very long time since Castiel has flirted with another man, especially one as attractive and charming as his new friend, and he’s forgotten just how good it feels. On the other hand, his reasons for not pursuing something romantic with Dean are still just as valid as they were when he was talking to Donna earlier this morning and _goddamn_ that interfering woman for getting in his head! Friendly flirting is all well and good, but what if Dean _is_ interested in Castiel romantically? The last thing he wants to do is hurt the handsome firefighter. The handsome, thoughtful firefighter who worked a twelve-hour shift saving people and fighting fires, then drove to Castiel’s favorite coffee shop to buy him coffee, and is now sitting across from him looking a little shocked and embarrassed at his own admission. _Shit. _

Fortunately, he’s saved from his to-flirt-or-not-to-flirt dilemma by the man in question (Castiel should really stop being surprised by Dean rescuing him), who adds, “You should have told me the coffee situation was so dire. The station’s really not far from here, you know. I could have been enabling your caffeine addiction a lot sooner.”

“I didn’t want to ask you to go out of your way,” Castiel mumbles in response.

Dean rolls his eyes, “Pretty sure I just said it’s _not_ out of the way, Cas.”

Dean doesn’t stay much longer after that, as Castiel catches him stifling a yawn and insists he go home to sleep, but he keeps his implied promise, stopping by each morning after finishing his overnight at the station, steaming I-Dream-of-Beanie-cup in hand. The man is as charming and flirtatious as ever, tossing Castiel easy grins and casual winks that never fail make his breath catch in his throat. He’s just as flirty with the nurses and other hospital staff that find their way to Castiel’s room during his visits (and Castiel can’t help but notice that there appears to be a decided increase in his vital checks and pillow-fluffing whenever Dean’s around) and it eases his worries that Dean could be developing more-than-friendly feelings for him, even if it does also leave an odd, hollow feeling in his chest.

As he watches Dean stroll out of his room Saturday morning, bow-legged swagger drawing his eyes helplessly to the man’s denim-hugged backside, Castiel decides that as long as he can keep a tight rein on his burgeoning crush, a little friendly flirting never hurt anyone. 

Less than two hours later, freshly showered and shaved, Castiel fidgets nervously in his wheelchair while looking down at the phone in his hand. Charlie just texted that she, Gabe, and Claire are about five minutes away. Adding in the time it will take them to park and make their way up to Castiel’s floor, Castiel should have his baby girl in his arms again in less than fifteen minutes. Nervous anticipation makes his heart flip over in his chest and he chews on his bottom lip as he flips from Charlie’s text back to the message he received from Dean a few hours ago.

Today, 10:12 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

Hey Cas, I’m getting ready to head to bed, but I just wanted to say have fun with Claire this afternoon!

See you tomorrow.

😊

Smiling, Castiel looks up as a grinning Alex steps into his room, “Castiel? You have guests waiting in the common room.” 

His hands shake as he reaches for his wheels and Alex quickly steps behind his chair, murmuring softly, “Here, let me.”

Suddenly fighting a tightness in his throat, Castiel nods silently and folds his quaking hands in his lap as Alex wheels him down the hall toward one of the floor’s two common areas. Castiel had decided to meet his family there, both so there would be enough chairs for both Gabe and Charlie to sit and because even though he knows she won’t remember it, he can’t stomach the thought of his baby girl seeing her daddy in a hospital room. 

The first thing he sees as they turn the corner into the common room are the vibrant, red curls of his best friend, who’s beaming at him from behind her smartphone, held aloft to record his reunion with Claire, as promised. His eyes quickly shift to his chubby-cheeked baby, where she sits bundled contentedly in Gabriel’s lap, blue eyes taking in the room, wide and serious, before locking onto Castiel. 

Hands flying up to cover his mouth, Castiel lets out a choked sob, “Claire, sweetheart!”

His own eyes shining, Gabriel moves swiftly to Castiel’s side, whispering something into Claire’s blonde curls before depositing the baby in Castiel’s lap. Arms wrapping around his tiny daughter and pulling her close, Castiel doesn’t try to stem the flow of tears as he rests his forehead against Claire’s. 

“My sweet girl,” he whispers as he runs his fingers through her fine curls, “Daddy missed you so much, sweet girl. So much.” Gabe’s eyes look like they’ll spill over any moment now and Charlie is openly crying, though she holds her phone steady as she watches Castiel hug Claire to his chest. Claire tolerates the petting for a moment before pushing back against her father’s chest and looking up into his face. Castiel gazes down at his daughter lovingly, watching with an ache in his chest as her lip trembles and her azure eyes fill with tears.

“I’m sorry, sweet girl,” he chuckles wetly, “Daddy didn’t mean to make you cry.” He smooths her hair across her forehead, his smile wobbling as his daughter turns in his lap, searching out Gabriel where he sits at the nearby table. Sniffling, Claire stretches her chubby baby arms toward Gabriel, reaching for the familiar, safe embrace of her uncle. There was a time when Castiel was the only one she reached for that way. He blinks and a fresh wave of tears cascade down his cheeks.

Looking at Gabriel through watery eyes, Castiel sees his own heartbreak reflected in his brother’s features. “It’s okay,” he says bravely, trying to reassure his brother with a confidence he doesn’t possess, “take her.” Still looking uncertain, Gabe takes Claire into his arms, settling the baby onto his lap once again. Claire wiggles around until she’s seated sideways in Gabe’s lap, leaning against his chest, but casting frequent, furtive glances in the direction of her father.

Putting down her phone, a stricken Charlie pulls a chair up next to Castiel and sits, resting her head against his shoulder. He brings a hand up and buries his fingers in Charlie’s hair the way he’d done to Claire a few moments ago, leaning his head to rest on top of hers, accepting his friend’s offer of comfort. 

“She’s not feeling very well,” Gabriel explains helplessly, “teething. That’s actually what her fever was about, the day of your accident. We had no idea at the time, of course, but a few days later, she cut her first tooth. The one next to it is ready to come through any day now.” Castiel knows his brother means the information to be comforting, but the knowledge that he’s missed such a milestone cuts through him like a knife. 

Taking a shaky breath, he nods and says, as much to himself as to anyone else, “She’s been through a lot of changes in a short period. It’ll take time, but we’ll get there.” He pauses, then adds, “It’s actually good for her that she’s developing attachments to other people. It was just me and her for so long...” he trails off as he feels Charlie’s small hand squeezing his bicep reassuringly. 

Everything he just said is true, but it doesn’t ease the burning, aching feeling in his chest as he watches his baby seek comfort from someone else. Fresh tears wet his cheeks as he watches Claire pop a thumb into her mouth. She’s sucked her thumb since birth, determinedly eschewing all offered pacifiers. Castiel’s been warned by countless “helpful” old biddies in grocery store checkout lines that he should break her of the habit, but he always ignores them, unable and unwilling to “break” her from her only method of self-soothing, not to mention it’s the most adorable sight Castiel has ever seen. She can suck her thumb as he drops her off in front of her college dorm for all he cares.

Thankfully, Charlie breaks the tense silence, updating Castiel on the latest gossip from Shawnee Mission North’s students and staff. He lets her bubbly voice wash over him, soothing him as he listens to her chatter on about how Krissy Chambers, despite her tough-girl persona, accepted a stuttered invitation to homecoming from an awkward and blushing Alfie Shurley. 

Eventually, Claire lets Castiel hold her again and though her face remains stoic, there are no tears this time, for which Castiel is immensely grateful. Charlie snaps several pictures of the two of them, even capturing a tiny smile from Claire in one of them, as Gabriel makes silly faces at her off-camera. By the time the three of them leave, with Gabe and Charlie both giving Castiel tight hugs and promising to visit again soon and Castiel murmuring love and endearments into Claire’s soft hair before passing her back to Gabe, Castiel feels more drained than after even he most strenuous of his therapy sessions. 

He wheels himself halfway back to his room, before Alex sees him and takes over, expertly steering him through the doorway and helping him transfer from the chair back to his bed. She helps him more than she usually would and more than he really needs, but exhausted and heartsick, Castiel lets her. 

He falls asleep early that night, his eyes dry, but his heart feeling cold and numb. 

* * *

**_Sunday, September 23, 2018_ **

Dean knows something is off as soon as he walks into Cas’ room Sunday morning. Over the past few days, Cas has been spending more and more time in his wheelchair, trying to build up his stamina for when he goes home, but today, his friend is lying in bed, blankets pulled up to his chin, barely-touched breakfast congealing on the bedside table in front of him. 

“Cas?” he asks, drawing the man’s eyes away from the television, though Dean would bet money Cas probably couldn’t tell him a single thing that’s happened in the past five minutes of, he glances at the TV, _Kitchen Nightmares_. “You okay man? How’s your pain?”

Cas gives him a wan smile that doesn’t even hold a fraction of the teacher’s usual warmth and greets, “Hello, Dean. I’m fine. The pain is no worse than normal. I’m just a little tired today.”

Dean wonders idly if Cas is always this bad at lying. It’s refreshing to be able to read someone so easily.

“Uh huh,” he says disbelievingly, before rolling the breakfast covered table away and perching on the edge of the bed in its place. He believes Cas when he says his pain is under control. Though he almost never complains about the pain, Dean’s noticed a tell-tale tightness around the man’s eyes when his pain killers are wearing off that’s missing now. He can tell that his friend isn’t even in the same area code as, “fine,” however, and the guilty way Cas avoids his eyes just confirms it.

“How was your visit with Claire?” he asks gently, eyeing a stack of what look to be arts and crafts projects, adorned with colorful, baby-sized handprints, on Cas’ other side. The man had been all smiles when Dean had seen him yesterday morning, so excited about his upcoming visit he could hardly talk about anything else. Now, he looks downright despondent and it’s more than a little unsettling. His snarky friend is never exactly chipper, but the usual light behind his blue eyes is absent today and for the first time since Dean watched him be airlifted from the accident scene, Cas actually looks like a man who almost lost his life less than a month ago. 

Cas opens his mouth, most likely to lie and insist he’s fine again, but pauses when Dean catches his eye and silently raises an eyebrow. He won’t force Cas to talk if he really doesn’t want to, but he’s not going to pretend his friend is fine when it’s obvious he’s not either. Ignoring a problem almost never makes it go away. Dean knows. He’s tried. Repeatedly.

Reading the resolution in Dean’s expression, Cas sighs and fishes his phone out from beneath the colorful stack of finger-painted pages. He pulls up a video, then passes the phone to Dean, nodding his permission as Dean’s finger hovers over the play button.

Pressing play, Dean watches, eyes glued to the screen, as Cas is wheeled into the room by the harried nurse from Wednesday’s pain med debacle, eyes bright and shining with emotion. Cas looks up and flashes a warm smile that absolutely does not make Dean’s stomach swoop in jealousy at whoever must be holding the camera, before his eyes find Gabriel and Claire where they’re seated in the center of the room. Dean feels his lips pulling upward in a delighted smile as video-Cas gasps and brings both hands to his mouth, sobbing out Claire’s name as Gabe carries the baby over and hands her off. 

Dean continues to smile as he watches Cas cling to his daughter, tears streaming down his cheeks, relief and bliss painting his face in equal measure. His hands stroke down the baby’s hair, back, and pudgy arms, as if Cas is reassuring himself that she’s really there. Feeling his own eyes mist over, Dean swallows. He’s seen dozens of parents reunited with their children over his years on the job, often after having carried said child out of a burning building himself. It’s always touching, but seeing that look on the face of someone he’s come to care about? It’s more powerful than he could have anticipated. 

Suddenly though, Dean’s breath catches in his throat and his smile falters as he watches baby Claire pull away from her father and reach for Gabe with a small whimper, eyes leaking tears. He can see the moment Cas’ heart breaks on video, captured forever in high definition, his eyes dimming as he continues to wear a brave, but clearly forced smile. Cas’ empty hands clench and release helplessly on his lap after Gabe scoops up Claire, the video cutting off a moment later. 

Dropping the phone to his lap, Dean looks up into tear-filled blue eyes.

“I’m not even sure she fully recognized me,” Cas says hoarsely. “My baby girl. My whole world and she doesn’t even know who I am.” His voice breaks on the last two words and Dean feels a piercing ache behind his sternum. He wants to tell Cas that’s not true, that Claire does know him, but what the fuck does Dean know? Dean doesn’t even need a full hand to count the number of kids he’s spent more time around than it takes to haul ass out of a burning building. Claire’s what, eight months old? For all Dean knows, maybe babies her age really can forget someone after just a few weeks apart. He doesn’t think that’s the case, but he’s not a hundred percent and he’s pretty sure Cas’ll see right through his bullshit if he tries to pretend otherwise. 

Taking a deep breath, Dean scoots closer and reaches for Cas’ hand where it’s fisted in the blankets next to his leg. Wrapping it in both of his own, he dips his head until he can meet Cas’ downcast eyes.

“Cas,” he says thickly, “Cas, I know I don’t know much about kids, man, but I don’t think that’s how it works. Two weeks apart doesn’t just erase eight months of love and devotion.” Seeing Cas about to argue, he presses on, “And if it does? If two weeks was all it took to erase you from Claire’s life, then it’ll be just as easy to put you back there again. I know it’s gonna be a while before you can do everything with Claire that you and she are used to, but you’ll get there, Cas. I promise. One day soon, not as soon as you’d like maybe, but soon, that little girl is gonna look at you like you’re _her_ whole world again, okay?”

Eyes locked onto Cas’ in desperation, Dean squeezes his hand.

“Okay, Dean,” Cas agrees softly after a long moment. They sit like that for another minute, Cas’ hand still clasped in Dean’s when he speaks again. “Dean? Do you think,” pausing, Cas takes a deep breath before he pushes out, “do you think Claire’s angry with me? Do you think I hurt her when I just... disappeared like that? Christ, Dean, she must have been so sad and so confused. What kind of parent...” Sobbing in earnest now, Cas breaks off and pulls out of Dean’s grasp, burying his face in his hands.

Moving closer still, Dean rests one hand on Cas’ shoulder as the other reaches to cup the man’s jaw. Dean’s arms ache with the urge to wrap around the other man and pull him to his chest, but he refrains, partially because he’s afraid of hurting Cas and partially because Dean’s worried if he gives into this urge, the next one he’ll cave to will be the urge to kiss away the salty tear-tracks lining his friend’s cheeks, a completely fucking inappropriate move he’s certain wouldn’t be welcome. 

“No, Cas,” he whispers, wiping away a single tear-track with his thumb because Dean is a weak man. 

“Look at me.”

Red-rimmed eyes meet Dean’s and he repeats, “No, Cas. I don’t think Claire’s angry with you. I don’t think that’s how babies work. I think she’s probably just really confused is all. You’ve both been through a lot of changes in the past couple of weeks. But you didn’t just leave her, Cas. You have to know that. This wasn’t your fault.” Dean holds Cas’ face steady as he says the last part, eyes glued to his friend’s. Dean knows something about blaming yourself for things that are beyond your control. He won’t let Cas do that. Dean’ll remind him of that every goddamn day if he has to.

Cas holds Dean’s eyes for a long moment before he finally nods. Dean gives Cas’ shoulder a final squeeze before dropping his hand, reluctantly removing his other from the man’s cheek and fighting not to remember the feel of Cas’ stubble-lined jaw beneath his fingers.

Eyes falling again on the stack of glitter-covered construction paper, he nods at them and nudges Cas’ knee, “What are those?”

Cas smiles softly as he picks up the stack, “Art projects from Claire’s daycare,” he says, spreading the pictures out across the bed between them. 

Dean smiles and examines each picture in turn. A sheet of lavender construction paper holds a pair of baby footprints positioned side-by-side to look like butterfly wings, while an orange handprint-fish swims by in an ocean of dark blue.

“This one’s my favorite,” Cas says, sounding happier than Dean has heard him so far today and tapping a piece of light blue paper adorned with colorful handprint flowers in red, orange, and purple topping painted green stems. A swarm of thumbprint-bumblebees buzz around the flowers, careful lines and delicate wings drawn atop the tiny yellow prints in black marker. 

“I have an idea,” Dean says with a grin as he stands and strides toward the door to Cas’ room. “Don’t run off,” he calls, tossing Cas a wink over his shoulder and chuckling at the man’s answering eye roll as he jogs out of the room toward the nurse’s station. 

A minute later, he’s heading back into the room, a clear roll of Scotch tape in-hand. Beaming at Cas, he carefully tapes up each picture, one at a time, framing the window next to Cas’ bed in his daughter’s artwork. When he’s finished, a cheerful display of Claire-prints covers the wall and Dean dares anyone to look at that adorable pair of footprint penguins without smiling.

It’s certainly done the trick for Cas, whose smile turns soft as he looks from his new art gallery to Dean and back again. “Thank you, Dean,” he says with a thick swallow and Dean shrugs, fighting a blush at the unabashed gratitude in his friend’s eyes. 

“Don’t worry about it, Cas. It’s nothing.” Cas shakes his head, but let’s Dean off the hook with his deflection, because he’s a kinder soul than Dean is, clearly.

Dean flops into the room’s lone chair and props his feet up on the bed next to Cas’ legs, before picking up the man’s call button and turning up the volume on the Food Network, still playing on the TV overhead. Cas tries to send him home to sleep after a Halloween-themed episode of _Cupcake Wars_, but Dean refuses, reminding Cas that he’s finished his last overnight of the week and now has three days off to get his sleep schedule turned around for his upcoming stretch of day shifts. The longer he can stay up today, the easier the transition will be. 

This makes Cas relent and they spend the next several hours binge-watching the Food Network. Lunch comes and goes, with the pair splitting Cas’ Chicken Caesar Wrap over an episode of _Chopped_, followed by an _Iron Chef_ marathon. Each man takes the side of one of the chefs, cheering their pick on with the same gusto most men reserve for their favorite sports team. 

“Not the ice cream machine!” Cas wails in frustration as Dean cackles next to him. “Why do they always have to try the ice cream machine? When has that ever worked for any contestant ever?” he laments to a triumphant Dean twenty minutes later. “How the hell could he have thought _liver _flavored ice cream was a good idea?” Cas’ sore-loser pout is adorable and Dean has to resist the urge to kiss it off of him.

When dinnertime rolls around, Dean gives Cas a look of utter betrayal when the Food Service tech carries in Cas’ meal choice: a black bean burger and sweet potato fries. He rolls his eyes, but lets Dean order them a large meatlover’s pizza without complaint, and although Dean catches some definite side-eye, Cas doesn’t say anything when the sweet potato fries slowly disappear from the plate on the table between them as they wait for their pizza. 

They’re each devouring a greasy slice of meat-covered-pizza-heaven and are on their fourth episode of _Iron Chef_ when Dean asks, “So, if you had to choose, which Iron Chef would you bang?”

“Bobby Flay,” Cas answers immediately around a gooey bite of pizza.

Dean raises his eyebrows, “Answered pretty quick there, Cas. Given this some thought, have we?”

Shrugging unashamedly, Cas elaborates, “Have you seen the man handle a knife? He’s got hand skills. What about you?”

A laugh punches out of Dean at Cas’ reasoning and he’s still wheezing a bit when he waggles his eyebrows and asks, “What about me? Are you asking about my Iron Chef pick or my ‘hand skills?’ For the first, Chef Cora, all day, every day. For the second, I’m pretty ‘handy’ in the kitchen myself.”

“Of-fucking-course you are,” he hears Cas mutter under his breath.

Dean grins, “What’s wrong, Cas? Surprised I can cook?”

“Not at all,” Cas deadpans, “I am Jack’s utter lack of surprise.”

“Dude,” Dean scolds, “That reference is older than those ancient-fucking-canned-goods Gordon found on _Kitchen Nightmares_ this morning.”

“_Fight Club_ is always relevant,” Cas argues.

Conceding the point with a head tilt and half shrug, Dean brightens, “Oooh, there’s a question, who would you bang: Tyler Durden or the Edward Norton character?”

“We’re talking the characters, not the actors, right?”

Wrinkling his brow, Dean wonders, “Does it matter? My answer is Brad Pitt for both.”

“I don’t know,” Cas considers, “I’ve always thought Brad Pitt’s too full of himself to be a good lover. Edward Norton may look unassuming, but I bet he’s a force to be reckoned with in bed.”

“So you’d choose Tyler Durden for the characters, though? How come? Norton’s character is kind of a badass in that ending scene.”

Cas shrugs, “The narrator spends the majority of the movie completely strung out, sleep deprived, and paranoid, while Durden is confident and in control. The only ‘badass’ thing Norton does in the entire film is shoot himself in the face... and then he’s got a giant hole in his face.”

Cas pauses as Dean chokes on his pizza at his ending line, then adds, “Not that I haven’t dated worse.”

“Well, that sounds like a story,” Dean says hoarsely, after coughing up the slice of pepperoni he’d inhaled.

“Oh no, if we’re trading first relationship stories, you’re going first,” his friend says as he reaches for another piece of pizza. Dean rolls the table closer to him so Cas doesn’t have to bend to reach the pizza box.

“Fine, you big baby. I’ll go first, even though _you’re_ the one who brought it up. First relationship... that would be Cassie Robinson, sophomore year of high school. She was my first everything, really. Well, not my first kiss, but pretty damn close. She was beautiful, smart, funny. I loved her, you know? Well, I mean, if sixteen-year-olds can really love someone like that.”

“Dean, I work with sixteen-year-olds every day. They love passionately and deeply, whether it’s a significant other or the newest Taylor Swift album. I’m certain your feelings for her were real and significant, whether or not the way you felt then is the same emotion you would qualify as ‘love’ today.”

“Hey, don’t knock T Swift. Girl’s got talent.” Ignoring Cas’ suppressed smile, Dean continues, “So yeah, I really loved her, but then the fire happened and... everything that came after.”

Cas smile fades into something softer and sadder as Dean pushes on, “Cassie couldn’t handle it. Wasn’t her fault though, you know? She was just a kid. She wanted to be doing normal kid things, like football games, and parties, and prom. She tried to understand, I know she did, but in the end, she broke it off.”

“You were both just kids, Dean. Neither of you should have had to ‘handle’ something like that,” Cas says softly, “but unlike Cassie, you didn’t get a choice.”

“Yeah, well,” Dean summons up a grin and deflects, “that’s my story. Your turn.”

“Hmm...” Cas hums, considering, “I guess that depends on whether or not you consider Lilith a relationship.”

“Because you were still figuring out your sexuality and weren’t actually attracted to her?”

“Oh, no,” Cas chuckles dryly, “I’d known I was gay for years before dating Lilith.”

Face scrunched in confusion, Dean asks, “Then why’d you date her? Was she your beard?”

“I guess you could call her that. I started dating Lilith my senior year of high school, after she caught me making out with the captain of our school’s football team.”

“Go, Cas!” Dean cheers with a lewd smirk.

Chuckling, his friend continues, “We went to one of those really expensive, snooty private high schools, the kind with ivy growing on the sides of the buildings and wings named after the people who paid for them to get their otherwise lackluster progeny in the doors. My family are rather well known in that area and Lilith decided that it would be in both of our best interests if we started dating. She would become connected with the Miltons and all of their various acquaintances and my parents wouldn’t find out their youngest son liked boys. Of course, the implication was that if I _didn’t_ date her, they would absolutely find out.”

“Christ, Cas! That’s not a relationship; that’s a hostage situation!” Dean exclaims, face displaying the shock and outrage he feels inside.

“I know,” Cas nods, “I dated her for the rest of my senior year, during which time I completed the FAFSA and applied to schools I’d be able to afford on just my student loans behind my parents’ backs. When I came out to them and ended my relationship with Lilith the summer after graduation, I’d already been accepted to the University of Illinois and been approved for early move-in, which came in handy when they disowned me and kicked me out.”

“Shit, Cas,” Dean breathes. Here he’d been whining because his first girlfriend dumped him and Cas’ first relationship ended with him losing his home and his entire family!

_Well done, Winchester, you tool._

Cas shrugs, looking distinctly uncomfortable and Dean clears his throat, looking for anyway to salvage the conversation.

“So, since we’re obviously not counting that bitch-who-doesn’t-want-to-meet-me-in-a-dark-alley, how about your first _consensual_ relationship? Was it Bart?” God, Dean hopes not. He hopes Cas had at least one positive relationship between the bitch who abused him and the asshole who used him.

“Balthazar,” Cas smiles shyly, and _fuck_, Dean is _definitely_ jealous of the guy whose mere memory can still make Cas smile like that this many years later.

_Shut it down, Winchester! Weren’t you just saying you hoped Cas had at least one good relationship? _

“Balthazar?” Dean asks incredulously.

“Yes,” and there’s that fucking wistful smile again, “He was a British international student at my university. We dated a few months before I met Bart.”

_So, he had a British accent. Of course, he did, the posh fuck._

“So,z tell me about Balthazar,” Dean says, because clearly, he’s a fucking masochist.

“Balthazar was... adventurous... chaotic. Much like Cassie for you, he was most of my firsts, though I’m not sure I ever really loved him. He did introduce me to a lot of new experiences though,” Cas says with a wicked smirk that makes Dean hate this Balthazar guy’s face.

“So what happened?”

“We just wanted different things. I met Bal at a time when I was still reeling from my parents’ betrayal and was desperate to rebel against every part of the life they’d planned for me. I dove into Balthazar’s lifestyle with a vengeance: parties, booze, sex, and freedom.”

“So, college,” Dean summarizes and Cas nods.

“It didn’t take long though before we both realized I was trying to be someone I wasn’t. I craved quiet meals and relaxing evenings in, while Bal wanted noisy clubs and ménage a twelves.”

“I’m sorry, did you say, _twelve?”_

Cas shoots Dean a filthy smirk, “I did say he was adventurous.”

Oh yeah, Dean hates this guy.

“Bal let me down easy. Told me it was perfectly okay for me to want those things... just not to want them with him. That would just lead to heartache for both of us. We stayed friends for a while after that, but Bart never really approved of the friendship and when Bal moved back to the UK a couple years later, we drifted apart.”

And well, _fuck._ As much as he fucking hates that guy (and he does, he _really_ does), now Dean wants to track down his number so he can reunite Cas with his old friend.

They drift into silence after that as they finish off the pizza and digest the new information they’ve taken in, and if it’s a slightly more somber silence than their earlier TV-watching, it’s no less comfortable. 

When Dean finally leaves, it’s with a squeeze to Cas’ shoulder and a promise to text so Cas knows he got home safely. He waits until he’s changed into his pajamas and snuggled under his sheets to text Cas. Biting his lip in deliberation, Dean finally decides, _fuck it_, and opens his camera app. Lying back against his pillows, he flips on the selfie-camera and snaps a picture of himself, his black t-shirt and tanned skin a stark contrast against the white pillowcase. 

He quickly sends it to Cas with an attached text message.

Today, 9:17 PM

You SENT:

Home safe and all tucked in.

Turning out his light, he grins in the dark when his phone pings with a response.

Today, 9:18 PM

Cas SENT:

I see that. You look... cozy. 

Today, 9:19 PM

You SENT:

Well, I figured I’ve seen you in bed enough times, it’s only fair I return the favor.

😉

Today, 9:21 PM

Cas SENT: 

Well, fair is fair. 😉

You look so comfy all tucked into your own bed. I wish I could say the same.

Today, 9:22 PM

Cas SENT:

About my bed, I mean.

I mean, ME in my bed.

Not YOU in my bed.

Dean chuckles affectionately before replying.

Today, 9:23 PM

You SENT:

I knew what you meant.

Night Cas.

Today, 9:25 PM

Cas SENT:

Goodnight Dean.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Discussion of past dub-con/non-con relationship (NOT sexual)
> 
> What did you think of Claire and Cas' reunion? I know it was not the visit many of you (or poor Cas, for that matter) were anticipating, but don't fear, there are plenty of heartwarming, cute baby Claire/Daddy Cas moments to come.
> 
> For those who've watched last night's episode: WE ARE!!! 😍  
Feel free to share your non-spoilery thoughts and feelings about the episode in the comments! 
> 
> Next week: Another very big day for Cas! Can you guess what it is?


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas gets to go home, but unfortunately, even that turns out to more complicated than anticipated.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!
> 
> I hope you've all had a lovely week. Mine was... not bad per se, but definitely stressful. So stressful, in fact, that after reading about other people's reactions to Thursday night's episode, I totally chickened out of watching it and read some happy-ending fanfic instead. 
> 
> As you can see from the terrible summary above, several of you were correct in your guesses about Castiel's big day last week! Let's see how that plays out, shall we?
> 
> Please check the chapter end notes for warnings.

** _Tuesday, September 25, 2018_ **

“I am more than capable of spending a couple of hours by myself, Gabriel. I’m thirty years old. I do not need a babysitter!” 

“I’m not saying you do, Cassie, but if Dean doesn’t mind staying with you until I get home...”

“The coffee shop is open until midnight on weekends, Gabriel. You won’t be home until after one o’clock in the morning. Maybe even closer to two. We can’t ask Dean to stay that late after working a ten-hour shift at the fire house, especially not when it’s completely unnecessary. With Charlie keeping Claire overnight, there’s no reason Dean can’t drop me off and then go home and get some rest.”

“I really don’t mind staying, Cas,” Dean starts, but Castiel immediately interrupts.

“I appreciate that Dean, but I’ll be _fine_.” He shoots a glare at his brother with the last word.

“Cassie, would you stop being so damn stubborn?” Gabe says loudly in frustration, “It’s just not safe for you to be completely on your own your _first night_ home from the hospital! Why can’t you see that?”

“Cas, I hate to say it, man, but he’s got a point. Don’t you think you’re overreacting a bit here?” Dean says rationally, earning himself his own glare from Castiel.

“Cassie, be reasonable here,” Gabe pleads, running a hand through his long blonde hair and pushing it back from his face, “it’ll be your first night home from the hospital. You’ll probably be exhausted and you’ll be navigating the apartment for the first time in a new chair, transferring into a different bed... What if you fall and there’s no one around to help you?”

“Then I’ll have the perfect opportunity to check underneath the furniture for hidden dust bunnies while I wait for you to get home,” Cas deadpans, earning an amused eyeroll from Dean and a frustrated sigh from Gabriel.

Releasing his own sigh, Castiel runs a hand through his hair. He knows that his friend and brother mean well, but how can he explain that he _needs_ this opportunity to be on his own, if even for just a few hours. It’s been two and half weeks since his accident and Castiel hasn’t truly been _alone_ for any of it. He’s constantly had techs, nurses, doctors, friends, and Gabe checking in on him. He was declared, “in the blue” yesterday, which means he’s had a blue sticker added to his chart and his wrist band, indicating that he may “freely move about the cabin,” as Donna put it. He’s allowed to transfer in and out of bed, use the bathroom, and even shower completely independently now and that little taste of his former independence has only made him crave more. 

In all honestly, the thought of being completely on his own so soon after the accident terrifies Castiel, but that just makes him want it even more. He needs to prove, not just to Gabriel or to Dean, but to _himself_, that he _can_ do this. He needs to know that he can be on his own again; that he can take care of himself. He needs to know there really is a light at the end of this tunnel.

He’s about to open his mouth in yet another fruitless attempt to plead his case, when Garth lopes into the common room, looking completely unaffected by the obvious chill emanating from the other three men in the room. 

“Hey there, amigos,” he says when an amiable grin around the table as he plops himself into a chair in a move that looks more like a controlled crash than someone deliberately sitting, “I am _not_ feelin’ the love in this room! What’s the 4-1-1, Castiel?”

Huffing another irritated sigh, Castiel gestures at Gabe, “My brother found out his Saturday night closer has to go out of town this weekend for a funeral. He’ll have to cover at the shop instead of picking me up when I’m discharged Saturday.”

“But it’s okay,” Dean cuts in hurriedly, “I get off work at five Saturday. I can pick Cas up on my way home. It’s not a big deal.”

“And then you can babysit me until Gabe gets home in the wee hours of the morning, right? Tell me, Dean, is he paying you extra for staying up past curfew?” 

“Cas,” Dean groans, “it’s not like that!” 

“Hmm,” interrupts Garth before Castiel can ready another angry retort, “Dean, did Castiel ask you to pick up him Saturday?”

“Well, no,” Dean answers, shooting a confused look at Garth, “Gabe did.”

“Mmhmm. And did Castiel ask you to come here today?” 

Today is supposed to be Castiel’s “Family Training Day,” where his family or others in his support system can come to help plan for his transition home and learn the skills needed to help Castiel manage his care at home. He had only expected Gabe today, since Charlie was running low on leave, and had been shocked to wheel in and see Dean seated at the table.

Dean shifts in his seat, looking slightly uncomfortable as he answers, “No, Gabe did.”

“Because _someone_ has to drive him home Saturday and _someone_ needs to stay with his stubborn ass and I’d already asked Cassie’s only other friend to watch Claire overnight. Since she and Dean are pretty much the only people Cassie talks to, process of elimination made Fire Boy there the obvious choice,” Gabe declares loudly. 

“So, let me get this straight,” chirps Donna from where she’s been perched on the far end of the table, silently watching the dispute unfold, “when you found out you’d have to work Saturday, you called a friend to take care of Claire.” At Gabe’s impatient nod, Donna continues, “then you called Dean-O here, to take care of Castiel.” Seeing Gabe open his mouth, almost certainly to argue that “it’s not like that,” Donna pushes on, “when were you gonna call Castiel?”

Gabe’s face falls. He opens his mouth again, but this time it’s Garth that cuts in.

“And then you two come busting in here like a house on fire. Guns waving.” He gestures to Dean, “the jawlines,” then to Gabriel, “and the hair – it’s very intimidating. What did you expect?” He looks from Gabriel to Dean, who’s rubbing his jaw with a confused expression as he mouths, “jawlines?”

“I think where we need to start,” Garth finishes, “is with a little respect for my hombre, Castiel, here.”

Castiel takes a moment to be bizarrely grateful that he’s wheelchair-bound for the time being, because if he could get out of this damn chair right now, he might actually _kiss_ Garth. Gabriel looks suitably chastised, his standard shit-eating grin replaced by a sour grimace and his eyes regretful. Dean, Dean looks... Castiel feels his heart clench in his chest. Dean looks devastated. 

Face beet red and eyes glued to the floor, Dean rubs a hand across the back of his neck and clears his throat before he stutters hoarsely, “Umm, I uh, I think I should go.” The chair scrapes loudly against the tile floor as Dean stands abruptly and backs toward the door.

“Sorry, Cas,” the firefighter mumbles, before turning on his heel and bolting down the hallway.

“Dean, wait!” Castiel calls out from his spot at the table, but he knows it’s no use. Sure, he could try to chase after Dean, but the man will probably be in the elevator by the time Castiel makes it out of the room. He sighs. He could call Dean, but they’ve already wasted thirty minutes of Castiel’s two-hour family training session. Despite his being an overprotective ass, Castiel is going to need Gabriel’s help in the coming weeks and there’s a lot they need to cover at this meeting. He’ll just have to wait and smooth things over with his friend later. 

* * *

_Goddammit, Winchester! _

Dean collapses behind the wheel of his Impala, slamming the car door behind him. Wincing, he gently pats the steering wheel.

“Sorry, Baby,” he murmurs, before adding bitterly, “it’s not your fault I’m a goddamn idiot.”

What was he thinking? First, he inserted himself into Cas’ life without asking, showing up in the man’s goddamn hospital room like he was some sort of eyeglass-rescuing superhero. Now, he’s inserting himself into the man’s recovery as well? 

_Jesus, Winchester, you really **are** that guy, aren’t you?_

The worst part is, Dean _knows_ _better_. He can remember those first few weeks after the fire, when he couldn’t even take a goddamn piss without someone checking up on him. He was constantly surrounded by people and yet he’d never felt more alone, because try though they might, none of them understood. How could they? How could any of them have any fucking clue what he was going through? They didn’t. They couldn’t, so they tried to “be there” for him instead. Every damn person he knew was in his face constantly, “being there” until he felt like he couldn’t breathe. 

Dean remembers the sense of freedom and independence and just goddamn _normalcy_ he felt that first day when Dad had gone back to work without having someone stop by to “check-in” on him. _That_ was what he’d almost robbed Cas of today. 

Unbidden memories well up in Dean, rising like bile in the back of his throat. Scenes from the weeks following his mother’s death flash in front of his eyes. Sterile hospital rooms that always smelled faintly of disinfectant, a funeral parlor with a closed casket on display next to a portrait of a smiling Mary Winchester, shovelfuls of black soil hitting the casket lid with a sound like rain falling on Baby’s roof. Dean’s darkened bedroom, windows covered with blackout curtains. Cassie’s face when Dean told her he wasn’t going to prom. Dad with a beer in his hand, the pile of empty cans next to his recliner always growing. Forcing the memories back down until they turn into a pit in the bottom of his stomach, Dean throws the gear shift into drive and pulls out of the parking lot.

After spending the afternoon sulking in his underwear, watching Star Trek reruns and bingeing frozen pizza, Dean tells himself he feels better. It’s a lie, of course. Now, in addition to feeling guilty and ashamed about Cas and nauseated over this afternoon’s post-traumatic freak-out, he feels gross and bloated to boot. Dean’s learned to manage his PTSD symptoms for the most part. He’s able to plan for most situations that he knows might be triggering, like the mindfulness strategies he uses when preparing to go into a house fire. As a result, he doesn’t have episodes as bad as today’s very often, but every once in a while, something completely unexpected sets him off and he’s blindsided. 

_What a catch, Winchester. Why wouldn’t Cas want someone like you hanging around? _

Before Dean’s self-destructive thoughts can spiral much further, his phone rings next to him. Sighing in relief, he immediately tenses up again when he sees that the incoming call is from Cas. Well, he can’t avoid Cas forever and maybe the knots in his stomach will finally go away if he can manage to properly apologize to his friend. Sighing again, this time in resignation, Dean connects the call.

“Hey, Cas.”

“Hello, Dean.”

Despite still feeling like the shitty friend he is, Dean can’t help a smile at Cas’ standard, always-formal greeting. 

_What a dork._

“Look, Cas, I’m really sorry about this morning. I didn’t know Gabriel hadn’t told you about calling me, but that’s no excuse. I should have checked with you before just showing up there and I never should helped Gabe ambush you like that. It was a shitty thing to do.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas sighs, “I know Gabriel means well, but he sometimes lets his overprotective streak supersede his common sense when it comes to me. He feels like he wasn’t able to protect me when we were younger, so he tries to make up for it now.”

Dean’s eyebrows lift at the cryptic comment, particularly in light of the fact that Cas has previously mentioned having a “difficult adolescence,” but he senses now isn’t the right time to ask.

“I can understand that,” he says instead, “it’s a big brother thing. Drives Sammy crazy, but, uh, I’ve been known to be a little too overprotective of my family and friends too.”

Dean can hear the smile in Cas’ voice when he replies, “I imagine that protective nature is one of the things that makes you so excellent at your job.”

Feeling relieved that Cas is on the phone and not there in person to see his blush, Dean answers, “Yeah, I guess, but sometimes it’s hard to remember that I’m not always on the job, you know? I’ll try and do better.”

“It’s okay, Dean, really. I know you meant well too. I wish I could explain why I reacted so strongly. It’s just, so much has happened in the past couple of weeks. Medications, surgeries, rehab. Sometimes I feel like I can’t even keep up with all of it and when I’m lucky enough to get an explanation of what’s going on, it’s more like people are telling me what’s going to happen than explaining my options. It feels like I’m not in control of my own life anymore. I thought getting out of the hospital would change that, that I’d be getting my life back. So, when Gabriel made the decision to include you without me...”

“It felt like we were taking away your control. Your choice. Fuck,” Dean sighs, “I’m so fucking sorry, Cas.”

“It’s okay, Dean. You didn’t know.”

“But I should have,” Dean growls in frustration, “I’ve been there, Cas.” He swallows, “Remember how I told you about the fire that killed my mom? About how I was pretty messed up for a while after?”

“Of course,” Cas answer softly.

“Well, I felt the same as you after that. Everyone else making decisions for me and me just expected to show up. See this doctor. Talk to this shrink. Take these pills. And I did, you know, because I knew I needed to. I got that, but after a while it felt like my life was happening _to _me, without anyone actually including me in it. It all kind of came to a head with my junior prom. Before the fire, everyone had just sort of assumed that Cassie and I would go, including me. After the fire, everyone just sort of assumed the same. Everyone except for me. Cassie bought our tickets. My dad made reservations at some fancy restaurant. Bobby even set us up with a classic limo from a buddy’s restoration company. I said I wasn’t sure that I wanted to go, but no one listened. I’d been in a funk since the fire and I guess they all thought something normal, like prom, would help me be a normal kid again.”

“Dean, you weren’t acting, ‘abnormally.’ You experienced something incredibly traumatic and lost someone you loved in the process. I would think being depressed afterward is a completely ‘normal’ reaction,” Cas says angrily. 

Even though he knows the anger isn’t directed at him, Dean can’t help but wince, “yeah, well, that didn’t seem to matter to anyone else. They all kept pushing me to go. Eventually I couldn’t take it anymore and I blew up. Pissed off my dad. Scared the hell out of Cassie. She broke up with me after that. Point is, I get it and I should have been the last person to do something like that to you. I’m sorry, Cas. It won’t happen again.”

Cas is silent for a long moment. When he finally speaks, Dean starts in surprise at his question, “Dean, would you still be willing to pick me up from the hospital and take me home Saturday?”

“Of course, Cas,” he answers immediately, “and I promise not to overstay my welcome.”

Cas tells him what time he’ll be discharged from the hospital and they make plans to stop and pick up burgers at Cas’ favorite burger place on the way to his apartment. The conversation lightens considerably as they debate the best burger joints in the greater-Lawrence area, though Dean promises to ruin Cas for all other burgers the first time he makes him his homemade Dean-burgers. 

“We’ll have to arrange that sometime in the near future,” Cas agrees readily, “so I can see those _hand skills_ you bragged about firsthand.”

Dean hangs up the phone a short time later wearing a grin, his conversation with Cas succeeding where a day of DiGiorno and _Deep Space Nine_ had failed. 

* * *

**_Saturday, September 29, 2018_ **

Castiel pulls the last of Claire’s finger-painted artwork free of the wall and carefully peels the tape loop from the back of the pale blue construction paper before placing it neatly on top of its siblings. He tucks the stack into the front pocket of his suitcase.

He’s going home today.

Yesterday he had his final OT and PT evals with Donna and Garth. Donna had hugged him tightly and told him not to be a stranger. Garth had also enveloped him in an unexpected hug that Castiel returned awkwardly, before shooting finger guns at Castiel and telling him to, “keep it real, hombre.”

He’s met with his rehabilitation doctor for his discharge summary, collected his prescriptions and home healthcare orders for his occupational and physical therapy, and has a binder full of information on his treatment while at the rehabilitation hospital. Now he’s just waiting for Dean, who should be here sometime in the next ten minutes or so.

After anxiously watching the clock for five of those minutes, Castiel pulls out his phone and texts Dean.

Today, 5:25 PM

You SENT:

Hello Dean.

I’m all discharged and ready to go whenever you get here. 😊

A few minutes go by before his phone pings with Dean’s response.

Today, 5:28 PM

Dean Winchester SENT:

Just pulled in. 😊

Grinning at his phone, Castiel presses his call button for the last time. When the call nurse answers, he tells her that his ride is here. A few moments later, a kind-faced tech named Maria arrives to take Cas down to meet Dean. Hospital policy dictates that a hospital employee must wheel Cas to the exit, even though he’s been wheeling himself around the entire hospital for more than a week now. He doesn’t complain though, because it’s not like he’d be able to wheel himself while carrying his suitcase anyway and with Maria wheeling him, Dean can pull his car right up to the hospital entrance, instead of Castiel having to navigate the parking lot. 

Castiel shifts in his chair as he waits for Dean, who said he’d be driving a black Chevy Impala. His jaw drops open as a sleek, ebony muscle car pulls under the peaked overhang in front of the hospital’s entrance. Castiel may not know a lot about classic cars, but he does know sexy. And this car is sex on wheels. 

_Of course it is_, Castiel thinks forlornly. _What else would Dean Winchester, the walking embodiment of sex, drive?_

Castiel watches raptly as Sex-on-Legs steps out of Sex-on-Wheels and heads toward him around the gleaming hood of the classic car. 

“What,” he asks Castiel with an innocent voice that’s completely belied by his devilish grin, “not what you were expecting?”

Castiel squints up at the handsome-as-ever fire fighter, glaring as imperiously as he can from his seated height, “I believe you may have undersold your vehicle.”

“Baby’s a true lady, Cas,” Dean explains with a wink, “she doesn’t like to brag.”

He opens the passenger-side door for Castiel, who carefully removes the footrests from his wheelchair, passing them off to Dean who deposits them gently in the Impala’s trunk while Castiel maneuvers his chair as close to the passenger seat as he can get. While Dean holds the chair steady, Castiel flips back the left armrest and scoots, pivots, and slides into the car the same way he had practiced with Garth and Gabriel in the hospital’s mock-vehicle the day of his family training session. The transfer is smooth, for which Castiel is immensely grateful, he feels awkward enough having to do all of this for the first time under Dean’s eyes _without_ falling on his face, but he still winces in discomfort as he deposits himself on the Impala’s bench seat.

“Okay?” Dean asks with a raised eyebrow.

“Fine,” Castiel grunts in response and Dean accepts the answer, nodding briefly before rolling the chair away and closing the Impala’s door. Maria moves in from where she’d been waiting on the sidewalk, showing Dean how to collapse the chair, which is then stored in the trunk next to the footrests. 

With a final wave to a smiling Maria, Castiel and Dean fasten their seatbelts and pull out of the parking lot, headed toward downtown. Castiel feels his heartrate quicken as they drive down the quiet access road leading away from the hospital and he clenches and unclenches his fists where they rest on his knees. His mouth goes dry and he swallows, unable to hide his flinch as Dean makes a left hand turn onto the main road, which is followed by a sudden wave of nausea. Closing his eyes and breathing deeply through his nose, Castiel waits for the combination of anxious fluttering and nauseous roiling to settle in his stomach. He knew that nausea was a possible side effect of his medications, but it was one he hadn’t experienced in the hospital. Apparently being in a moving vehicle heightens the effect.

“How’s it feel to be back in a car?” Dean asks knowingly, clearly not having missed Castiel’s reaction to his turn. 

Castiel takes a deep breath and swallows again before answering, “Nauseating.”

Dean grimaces in sympathy, “Meds or nerves?”

“Both?” Castiel closes his eyes again momentarily, reopening them quickly when it suddenly feels as if the world is spinning.

“Just let me know if you need to stop, okay?”

Nodding mutely, Castiel begins bouncing his leg up and down as he fights against both his rebellious stomach and his traitorous brain. His stomach rolls with every dip and turn. He winces as the phantom sound of crunching metal fills his ears every time a car veers too close to their lane. 

They’re nearing The Snack Shack on Santa Fe, Castiel’s favorite burger place, when a red Toyota Camry suddenly cuts them off, causing Dean to hit the brakes. Castiel shouts aloud, hands flying up to cover his head defensively as he screws his eyes shut.

“Shit!” Dean curses loudly, before expertly steering them off the roadway and riding the shoulder into the neighboring parking lot. 

Hyperventilating, Castiel folds himself forward over his knees, arms wrapped around his ribcage as he tries and fails to control his breathing. He can feel tears welling up in his eyes and he’d be mortified if he weren’t still so fucking terrified right now.

“Cas,” Dean says in his deep, calm, first responder voice, “give me your hand.”

As helpless to disobey that voice now as he was the day they met, Castiel lifts a shaking hand toward Dean, who immediately grasps it in his own. His grip is warm and strong and the feeling of it quickly begins to calm Castiel. He never realized he was so grounded by touch.

_Or maybe it’s just Dean’s touch, _a traitorous voice whispers over the vestiges of Castiel’s panic.

“You with me, Cas?” Dean asks softly and Castiel squeezes his hand in response.

“Good. Now, I want you to pick a color and name everything you can see in that color. Start with things in the car, then you can look outside the car when you’re ready.”

Nodding, Castiel thinks for a moment before saying, “Black.”

“Good,” Dean encourages.

“My pants,” Castiel continues, looking down and gripping the leg of his black track pants with the hand not currently held tight in Dean’s. His eyes track upward to their joined hands and he adds, “Your coat.” Taking a measured breath between each object he goes on, “Your t-shirt. The screen on your phone. The car.”

“Keep going,” Dean nods.

Lifting his head and looking through the windshield, Castiel feels his pulse race again momentarily, but Dean squeezes his hand gently and it slows.

“The asphalt. The lamppost. The lettering on the Snack Shack sign.” Feeling still unsettled, but under control again, he’s suddenly very aware of Dean’s palm pressed against his, warm and dry. Dean’s calloused fingers wrapped around his own. His heartbeat starts to pick up speed again and he feels an entirely different kind of anxious fluttering in his stomach. Who knew the gastrointestinal system was so expressive?

Seeing Castiel’s gaze lingering where their joined hands rest on the seat between them, Dean clears his throat and leans back in his seat, releasing Castiel’s hand and moving his own to his lap. 

“Better?”

“Yes, thank you,” Castiel pauses, glancing over at Dean nervously. “How did you know to do that?” he asks softly. 

Turning off the car and dropping his eyes to where he’s now fidgeting with his keys, Dean answers, “It was an anxiety attack. I used to have them a lot... after the fire.” He hesitates. Then, seeming to come to a decision, he adds quietly, “sometimes I still do.”

His eyes flick up to Castiel’s nervously. Does his friend really think Castiel would judge him for experiencing the very same thing he just helped Castiel through? He has the insane urge to grab Dean’s hand again, but he refrains, instead offering an encouraging nod.

Calmed by the gesture, Dean continues, “I learned that technique, and some other ones, in therapy.” The firefighter clears his throat and glances at Castiel before looking out the windshield.

“You, um. If these attacks keep up... or get worse, you might want to think about that for yourself. Just, you know, from someone who’s been there.”

“Thank you, Dean,” Castiel intones seriously, “for helping me and for sharing that with me. I’ll think about what you said.”

“Yeah, no problem, buddy,” Dean stammers before suddenly clapping his hands together and declaring, “Alright, that’s enough chick flick moments for one car ride. Still want those burgers or would you rather just head home?”

Rolling his eyes fondly, Castiel answers, “Aside from our pizza last weekend, I’ve had nothing but hospital food for the past three weeks. It’ll take far more than a close call with a fender bender to kill my burger craving. I don’t even care if we’re actually in another car accident. You’re to send my burger with me in the medevac this time.”

“Yeah, alright. Keep your pants on,” Dean says with an answering eye roll before dutifully reciting their pre-determined order, “Two bacon double cheeseburgers, a large fry, a large onion rings, a chocolate shake for me and strawberry for you, right?”

Castiel nods and Dean hops out of the Impala, jogging around the side of the Snack Shack to the entrance. 

The rest of the evening passes amiably. Castiel still flinches and closes his eyes at times on the drive from The Snack Shack to his apartment, but during the worst of it he keeps his eyes focused inside the Impala and uses the color-naming strategy Dean taught him to center himself and they make it home with no further incidents. 

At his apartment, they eat their burgers and shakes, sharing the fries and onion rings between them. Dean gets an onion ring launched at his head when he tries to argue that as good as the milkshakes are, pie trumps ice cream as a dessert (“Cas, ice cream is the thing you have on the _side_ with pie. The pie’s the main event. Pie wins by default!”)

As the sun sets and the hour hand verges on nine o’clock, both men are clearly waning. Dean tries and fails to stifle a yawn with the back of his hand and Castiel yawns reflexively.

“I think I’m ready to call it a night,” he says, arching his back and stretching as best he can from his position on the couch. He scoots toward the sofa’s edge and Dean stabilizes the wheelchair as Castiel transfers back to it. It was so nice to have somewhere comfortable to sit that wasn’t his chair or a bed. Even with all its cushioning, the wheelchair makes him sore after a while.

Despite the difficult ride home, tonight has been wonderful and even though his tired and achy body longs for his bed and his next dose of pain killers, Castiel finds himself reluctant to end their evening. He may be imagining it, but Dean seems equally reluctant, shuffling his feet and glancing around the room nervously, hands shoved in the pockets of his jeans.

“Well, I uh, guess I should get going,” he says, making no move to leave.

If Castiel were standing, he’d be tempted to hug the firefighter goodbye. As it is, hugging the man from waist height might get a little awkward.

_Besides, _he reminds himself, _this isn’t a date. Dean is a friend who’s helping you out. Nothing more._

Somehow, that thought doesn’t keep him from imagining the feel of those strong, fireman’s arms wrapping around him.

Dean makes a half-turn to reach for his coat where it’s draped over the back of the sofa, then stops. Spinning back to Castiel, he says in a rush, “Cas, do me a favor here and let me stay until you’re in bed. Otherwise I’m just going to spend my night worrying that you’re laying on the floor, hurt and with no one around to help you. I’m not trying to baby you or take away your independence, I swear. I just...” Dean trails off, lifting his hands helplessly, and Castiel can’t possibly be angry in the face of his obvious concern.

“Dean, you don’t have to...” Castiel starts, but is interrupted before he can finish his sentence.

“I really don’t mind staying until you’re settled. It’s not like I have anywhere else to be, unless...” Dean pauses for a moment, a sudden look of embarrassed enlightenment gracing his features. “Unless you don’t want me to, of course,” he finishes quietly. Cas’ chest tightens at the obvious disappointment in Dean’s voice and he rushes to correct the other man’s oh-so-inaccurate conclusion. 

“Dean,” _not wanting you is definitely not the problem, _“I like having you here and I certainly don’t want you worrying. I don’t mind if you stay.” 

He pauses, then adds seriously, “On one condition.”

At Dean’s brow lifts in question, he finishes, “you don’t tell Gabriel.”

Grinning, Dean traces and X over his heart with one finger, “Cross my heart.”

Dean settles himself in the living room while Cas wheels back to the bedroom to prepare for bed. Would it be wrong to pretend he feels faint so that the gorgeous man waiting on his couch might use his firefighter’s muscles to help him into bed? Castiel shakes his head to clear it of the incredibly inappropriate thought. Definitely wrong. God, oh-so-tempting, but almost definitely very, very wrong.

Dean stays until Cas has located the reacher Gabriel ordered on Amazon, changed into his pajamas, used the restroom and transferred himself into bed. When Castiel calls Dean back to the bedroom, he can’t help the way his face heats as he sees the firefighter looking discreetly around the room, taking in the warm, moss green walls and mahogany furnishings, before coming to rest on Castiel where he’s tucked underneath his gold-toned comforter. Dean’s seen him in bed plenty of times in the hospital, but this, seeing him in _his_ bed, feels much more... intimate. 

“What?” he asks Dean, fighting to keep his blush to a minimum.

“Nothing,” the firefighter answers quickly, “I guess I just expecting something more... modern? But I like this. It suits you.”

“How so?” he asks quizzically.

“Very English-teachery. I can picture you in here, reading Hemingway or Shakespeare over a cup of tea.”

Castiel’s eyes drift to his nightstand and he chuckles as he turns the book there so that Dean can see the title, _The Sun Also Rises._

“Apparently, I’m a stereotype.”

Dean’s eyes light up mischievously and he adds, “Tell me the truth Cas, is that closet full of sweater vests and waistcoats?”

Pinning Dean with a _look_, Castiel arches an eyebrow, “I’ll have you know, I look incredible in a waistcoat.”

Now Dean’s the one fighting a blush and Castiel can’t deny the sudden surge of lust and power he feels, knowing his words are having an _effect_ on Dean. This crush may be harder to control than he thought, especially if Dean keeps blushing so prettily around him.

Dean clears his throat, “I, uh, should probably get going.”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel forces himself to stop picturing the many other ways he could make his beautiful friend blush, “thank you, for everything today. Please, text me when you get home so I know you got there okay.”

“Sure thing, Cas,” Dean says, turning and heading toward the door. 

At the doorway, he pauses, looking over his shoulder at Castiel, “Hey, Cas?”

“Yes, Dean?” 

“Welcome home.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: PTSD experiences, panic attacks
> 
> I'm relieved that chapter ended on a positive note. After that episode, this would have been a really bad week for an angsty cliffhanger, I think. 😂  
What did you think about Cas and Dean's first real disagreement? And speaking of disagreements, which is greater, ice cream or pie? I'm with Cas here. I enjoy pie (which is far superior to cake, in case you're wondering), but ice cream will always lead the pack when it comes to dessert.
> 
> Sorry for no Claire in this chapter. I'm sure folks were looking forward to seeing her now that Cas is home, but you'll have to wait until next week, I'm afraid. 
> 
> Speaking of next week, we'll get to see some of our favorite people all in the same room! I wonder how that will go? I wish I could say you'll have some fun Halloween festivities to read, but unfortunately you'll have to wait a few more weeks for that chapter (it's only killing me _slightly_ that the chapter doesn't line up with the holiday, but what are you gonna do? Idiots falling in love won't be rushed. I do hope that all of you have a very happy Halloween though!


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Another surprise for Cas. Let's hope this one goes better than last week's!
> 
> Also, there's a bed featured in this chapter! ;)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey everyone! 
> 
> I hope everyone had a happy and safe Halloween Thursday! Also, a belated Happy Diwali to those who celebrated!
> 
> I'm taking a quick moment to post this week's update as we set-up for our annual bonfire. Looking forward to some roasted marshmallows and s'mores tonight!
> 
> No warnings this week, so on to the chapter!

** _Sunday, September 30, 2018_ **

“Are you sure about this, Gabe?” Dean asks doubtfully, “I’m sure you remember how Cas reacted the _last_ time you surprised him with something.”

Dean hears Gabe release an irritated sigh on the other end of the line before he answers, “Yeah, I remember Dean-O, but this time it’s not my doing. His best friend from work is determined to throw him a ‘welcome home’ party and if I leave it up to her, she’ll invite the whole damn school. I’m just trying to mitigate the damage here. I figure if we only invite people who’ve already seen Cassie since the accident, it won’t be so overwhelming and he _might _not smite me on sight.”

Gabe pauses and then with uncharacteristic seriousness adds, “Besides, I wasn’t exaggerating back at the hospital when I said you’re one of Cas’ only two friends here. The guy’s pretty much been a social recluse since he moved here last year. He’s gonna need a bigger support network than just the three of us, especially if you ever hope to get that _alone time_ I’m sure you’re dying to have with my baby bro. I’m not gonna be the go-to babysitter so you two can get your groove on.”

Dean rolls his eyes, “Cas and I are just friends, Gabe. I told you that.” Gabe had made similar teasing remarks when he’d called Dean about picking Cas up from the hospital. Dean hates the hopeful flutter he feels in his stomach at Gabe’s words. It’s hard enough keeping his crush under control without Cas’ own brother making comments about things that are probably never gonna happen.

Dean rubs a hand over his tired eyes and lets out a sigh. Gabe’s not wrong though. Cas_ is_ gonna need more family than just his brother to be there for him in the coming months and if there’s two things Dean’s certain of in this world, number one is that family don’t end in blood and two is that there’s no family better than his.

“Alright. We’ll be there.”

That’s how, two hours later, Dean finds himself back at Cas’ apartment, this time with his brother and soon-to-be-sister-in-law in tow.

“It’s open,” Dean hears Cas’ voice echo from inside the apartment as he rings the doorbell. He opens the door and after ushering Sam and Jess inside, leads them to the dining room, where Cas is seated in his wheelchair at the table, sipping coffee beneath a brightly colored, “Welcome Home,” banner.

“Uh, surprise?” Dean says, gesturing sheepishly to Sam and Jess next to him.

“Quite,” Cas answers, but he says it with a small smile and Dean’s immensely relieved he isn’t upset about the impromptu party.

“Hello, Jessica,” Cas continues, turning in his chair to face her, “And this must be Sam?”

“Yep,” Dean says enthusiastically, “this is my brother and soon-to-be-biggest-mistake-of-Jess’-life, Sam Winchester. Sam, this is Cas.”

“Hi, Cas,” Sam says warmly, reaching out to shake Cas’ hand, “it’s nice to meet you. I’ve heard a lot about you. Dean never shuts up about you, actually.”

Face burning, Dean glares daggers at Sam and wishes he could sink through the floor, right into the apartment below.

Cas, angel that he is, ignores Dean’s embarrassment and replies smoothly, “I assure you, Sam, the feeling is mutual. I’ve also heard a lot about you from Dean, including a story about how you broke your arm when you were nine by jumping off the neighbor’s roof, because you thought you could fly.”

Dean grins as Sam splutters, “Did Dean _also _tell you that the only reason I was on that roof in the first place was because he’d spent the past _two days_ convincing me everyone in our family had secret mutant powers like the X-men?”

“Dude, you were so gullible,” Dean chuckles.

“I was _nine,_” Sam cries indignantly.

“’Sup bitches!” A voice Dean recognizes, but certainly didn’t expect to hear today carries through the apartment. 

“Charlie?” Dean asks in surprise as the familiar head of red hair bobs around the corner into the dining room, baby Claire in tow. “What are you doing here?” 

“Dean?” Charlie responds in confusion, before her face suddenly lights up in understanding and she turns excitedly to Cas.

“_Dean_ is your firefighter?” she asks as she deposits Claire on Cas’ lap, “you were right, by the way. She did need changing.”

_Your _firefighter, Dean thinks, his eyebrows perking up in interest as Cas’ cheeks turn rosy.

“Thank you, Charlie,” Cas says as he plants a kiss on Claire’s head, “you two know each other?” He looks from Dean to Charlie, valiantly ignoring the “your firefighter” comment that’s still bouncing around Dean’s brain like a damn ping pong ball.

“Duh,” says Charlie, rolling her eyes. “Dean’s one of my bestest friends and the best damn handmaiden a queen could ask for!”

“Bodyguard,” Dean corrects hastily, rubbing the back of his neck. Apparently, it’s his turn to blush again.

Ignoring his interruption, Charlie raises an eyebrow pointedly at Cas and continues, “He’s _also_ the LARPing buddy I wanted to set you up with last year. You know, to which you replied, ‘Charlie, you can’t just set me up with the one other gay man—”

“Bisexual,” Dean interjects again... and again is ignored.

“—you know in Overland Park and expect that we’ll live happily ever after. That’s not how life works,” she finishes in her best imitation of Castiel’s gravelly voice.

“Yes... Well... I,” Cas splutters, flushing further.

Remembering how Cas had saved him just minutes ago, Dean decides to take pity on his friend and, turning to face Charlie, cuts in, “Hey, you wanted to set me up with Cas? Why didn’t I know anything about this?”

“Cas shut it down so fast I didn’t see the point in telling you,” Charlie pouts.

“Ouch. Harsh, Cas,” Dean quips, shooting a mock-wounded look in Cas’ direction. “I’m hurt.”

Cas rolls his eyes and seems to find his equilibrium again, replying drily, “I’m sure you’ll survive.”

Dean grins, but still feels a pang of disappointment in his gut at Cas’ reaction to dating him. That pretty much settles any remaining questions Dean had in regards to a potential relationship with his new friend. Cas wasn’t even willing to _meet_ Dean before his accident and the extra complications his injuries have added to his life now certainly aren’t going to make him more open to dating. 

He can’t help but wonder for a moment though how things might be different now if Cas hadn’t been so quick to dismiss Charlie a year ago. Of course, Barty Crouch’s betrayal had been even fresher then, so Dean doesn’t think for a minute that Cas would have been in any way ready for a romantic relationship, but maybe they could have been friends that much sooner. But then Dean thinks about how he feels about Cas now and imagines how much that feeling might grow over the course of a year, because he has no illusions that his feelings, inconvenient as they are, will fade. He imagines coming across that accident scene and knowing it was _Cas_ in there, not just a handsome stranger with soulful blue eyes, and he shudders internally. He’s suddenly grateful that Cas refused to let Charlie introduce them.

At least now he understands why Gabe threw this party even though he knew it might piss Cas off. Charlie’s absolutely impossible to deter once she’s got an idea in her head and she can be incredibly... persuasive. That’s how Dean ended up LARPing in the first place.

Attempting to shake off his suddenly melancholy thoughts, Dean kneels down next to Cas’ chair and grins at the blue-eyed baby girl who currently has her hand fisted in Cas’ shirt. 

“You must be Claire,” he says softly, “I’ve heard a lot about you and I have to say, I’m a _big_ fan of your finger painting.”

Claire turns, burying her face in her father’s chest and Dean’s heart swells at the blissful look on Cas’ face as he chuckles and holds her close. 

“Apparently she’s feeling bashful today.”

“Nah,” Sam quips, “Dean just has that effect on women.”

Dean sticks his tongue out at Sam and they all turn to look toward the dining room entrance as they hear the apartment door slam.

Gabriel saunters into the room a moment later, eyes lighting up when they land on Jess.

“Hellooooo, Nurse,” he greets with a cheeky smile as he deposits two large bags bearing the logo of a popular Kansas City barbecue place on the dining room table.

“Hi, Gabriel,” Dean’s favorite-sister-in-law-to-be replies, rolling her eyes good-naturedly, “How are you?”

“Better now,” flirts Gabe shamelessly, “did you miss me?”

“It’s certainly been quieter around the ICU,” Jess teases, grinning at Gabe’s answering pout.

“Hey there, Random-Man-Getting-Shot-Down-By-My-Fiancée,” greets a smiling Sam as he approaches and sticks out a hand, “Sam Winchester.”

Gabe’s mouth drops open and he lets out a low whistle, “Dios mío!”

Sam hesitates in confusion, but Jess’ eyes take on an amused glint and her smile widens.

“Um, and you are? In addition to being the guy flirting with my fiancée, of course, not that I can blame you.”

“Not to worry,” replies Gabriel smoothly, “Gabriel Milton, Castiel’s big brother, ridiculously successful and handsome small business owner, and now the guy flirting with _you_.” He bats his eyes and now it’s Sam’s mouth that falls open. 

Turning to Jess, Gabe continues, “He is one _tall_ drink of water, isn’t he? Tell me, if I climb to the top and ring the bell, do I get a prize?”

Jess, Dean, and even Cas burst into laughter at the sudden blush that suffuses Sam’s face.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” Cas apologizes. “Please ignore my brother. He’s an incorrigible flirt, but he’s harmless... mostly.”

Shaking his head and seeming to recover, Sam shakes Gabe’s hand and offers, “I hate to disappoint you, but in addition to being engaged, I’m like a one on the Kinsey scale.”

“A one, huh?” counters Gabe with a wicked smirk, “so you’re saying there’s a chance?” 

Sam chokes on his punch and Dean grins. He finds Cas’ brother a whole lot less obnoxious when it’s _Sam_ he’s harassing.

Still spluttering, Sam protests, “Dude, I’m straight.”

Leaning in with a leer at Sam and a wink at Jess, Gabriel retorts, “So’s spaghetti, until you get it wet.”

“Ga!” Claire shouts from her perch on Cas’ lap, stretching her arms out to Gabe.

It’s incredibly reminiscent of the video Cas showed him of their first reunion and Dean sees the light in Cas’ eyes dim as he pastes on a brave smile and hands the now squirming Claire over to his brother, grimacing and wincing slightly as Claire’s flailing foot catches him in the stomach. A slightly awkward silence falls over the room at the exchange.

Aching for his friend, Dean claps a hand on his shoulder and asks loudly, “Who’s ready for some barbecue? I’m starving!”

“I’ve got paper plates right here and there are sodas and beer in the fridge,” Charlie announces, waving a package of confetti-covered disposable plates. 

As the group quickly works to get the food and dinnerware set-up, Cas catches Dean’s eye and gives him a grateful smile. Dean winks in return before turning to grab a plate for himself.

* * *

Castiel groans quietly as he pivots between his wheelchair and the edge of his mattress, using his arms to slide himself backward before gripping the legs of his flannel pants in his fist and swinging his legs up onto the bed, one at a time. Folding the comforter over himself and settling back against his pillows, he sighs in relief before taking one of the small white pain pills on his nightstand with a sip of water. 

He can still hear his guests talking and laughing as they finish cleaning up the dining room. Claiming pain and fatigue, Castiel had excused himself after dinner and retreated to his bedroom, following goodbye hugs from Charlie and Jess and a handshake from Sam. By all accounts, it had been a good day. Castiel had enjoyed seeing his friends and family together. Everyone had gotten along like they’d known one another for years. Jess was as clever and kind as Castiel remembered from the ICU; Sam was warm, good-humored, and every bit as bright as Dean bragged; and Castiel is still reeling from the fact that Dean and Charlie have apparently been friends for years. Despite all of that, the party had left him feeling drained and strangely empty.

Castiel had held Claire as often as possible today and although she’d played contentedly in his lap and even snuggled into him at times, he still felt a sharp pain in his chest every time she reached for someone else. He’d sat next to her high chair at dinner, talking to her and feeding her, but as soon as she was finished, she’d reached for Gabriel, who’d swooped in to take her away for her bath. She’d even reached for Charlie over him a couple of times. Despite allowing Castiel to hold her, she’s yet to actually reach for him and that knowledge is killing him. He feels useless, and helpless, and heartsick.

The first tear trickles down his cheek as he hears the apartment door close behind his guests, their voices fading away into the night. He starts and quickly wipes it away when he hears an unexpected voice from his bedroom doorway.

“Hey, Cas, everyone else is gone and I’m getting ready to... What’s wrong?” Dean’s brow furrows in concern and he takes two strides toward Castiel before stopping, seeming to hold himself back.

“I’m fine, Dean,” Castiel says, despite being betrayed by a sniffle.

“Sure,” Dean counters gently, “You’re the picture of ‘fine.’”

Castiel manages a weak smile that seems to set Dean at ease and he moves around to the opposite side of the queen bed, “Mind if I sit?”

When Castiel nods his assent, Dean stretches himself out on top of the covers, next to Castiel.

“Memory foam,” Dean comments, wiggling down into the mattress, “nice.”

He studies Castiel silently for a long moment. Castiel keeps his gaze glued to his hands, folded and fidgeting in his lap.

“Cas, talk to me. What’s goin’ on in that head?”

“It was great meeting Sam today and seeing Jess, and Charlie... and you, of course,” Castiel searches for the words to explain what he’s feeling, “but even so, I feel... I just feel...”

Pausing to scrub a hand over his face which is now covered in salty tear tracks, Castiel snarls in frustration, “Fuck! Why can’t I stop crying? I never cry like this and now it’s all I seem to do.” He looks at Dean helplessly. “I’m home now. I should be happy. Why do I feel worse than I ever did in the hospital?”

Dean turns on his back and stares up at the ceiling for a minute, before suddenly turning on his side to face Castiel, propping himself up on one elbow.

“Look Cas, you’ve been through a lot of shit. When you were in the hospital, you took all that shit and put it in a box... that way you could keep your shit together.” He offers a half shrug. “Now that you’re home, it’s time to unpack that shit.”

Castiel stares at Dean through sore and certainly red-rimmed eyes, before suddenly breaking into a watery laugh that builds until it’s just this side of hysterical.

When he’s finally able to catch his breath, he looks incredulously at a grinning Dean.

“Shit in a box? That is... an incredibly accurate metaphor,” he finishes thoughtfully.

Dean smirks, “What, you thought you were the only wordsmith around here, Mr. English Teacher?”

Castiel shakes his head with fond smile, then sighs in frustration as more tears force their way past his eyelashes.

Dean’s face turns somber again before he asks softly, “Is it Claire?”

“Dean,” he suddenly sobs, “The only thing I can even do for her right now is feed her. I can’t kneel in front of the bathtub to bathe her or stand at her changing table to dress her or change her diaper. I can’t even lift her in and out of her crib. Right now, it’s all I can do to even get myself in and out of bed.”

Dean doesn’t say anything. He just waits, eyes never leaving Castiel. Heaving in a shaky breath, he pushes on, “I can’t get down on the floor to play with her. I can’t toss her in the air the way that used to make her belly laugh. I won’t be able to walk back and forth and bounce her the way that usually calms her when she wakes up in the middle of the night and can’t get back to sleep. What kind of father am I right now, Dean?”

“The best kind, Cas,” Dean whispers, reaching over to squeeze Castiel’s hand, “the kind that loves her.”

Dean watches Castiel, eyes shining with affection. It would warm Castiel’s heart if he were able to feel anything but broken right now. After a moment, he gives Castiel’s hand a final squeeze before standing up.

“Be back in just a minute,” Dean promises before walking toward the door.

Castiel can hear Dean talking quietly to Gabriel in the living room, but he can’t make out their words. A moment later though, Dean returns as promised, holding Claire in his arms.

“Hey there, princess,” Dean coos to the baby who seems uncertain about being in this near-stranger’s arms, “your Daddy needs you right now.” Claire’s eyes light up as Dean resumes his position on the bed, depositing Claire between them. She immediately crawls toward Castiel, giggling and cooing as she pulls herself up on her knees, chubby hands bracing herself on Castiel’s chest.

“Hello, Sweet Girl,” he whispers, kissing her cheeks, her nose, her blonde curls. When Claire places one tiny hand over his mouth, he kisses her palm, making her giggle.

Castiel grins even as more tears leak from his eyes.

“I’m sorry, Claire,” he chokes out, “I’m so sorry, Sweet Girl.”

He glances at Dean, but Dean doesn’t interrupt; doesn’t tell Castiel that it’s not his fault, that he shouldn’t be sorry. 

“I’m so sorry I was gone, Baby. I’m sorry I can’t do everything we used to do together. I’m just so sorry for all of this.”

Claire just coos and leans her face against Castiel’s for another kiss, which he gives happily.

“I love you so much, Claire.”

The next half hour is spent laughing and trading smiles with Dean as Claire giggles and gurgles between them, attempting to climb onto and over the two men, Dean retrieving her and plopping her back down in the middle of the bed when she crawls too close to the edge. Claire slowly warms to Dean, her cautious glances in his direction turning into shy smiles and eventually a full-on belly laugh when Dean blows raspberries on her tummy. 

Blissfully, the jealousy he felt watching Claire interact with Gabriel and Charlie is absent. Castiel supposes it’s because Dean wasn’t the one caring for Claire in his stead. Whatever the reason, he’s grateful to feel nothing but warmth and affection as he watches Dean scoop a squealing Claire into his arms and pretend to “body slam” her onto the mattress.

Castiel still feels a pang of sadness and longing later that night when he hears Claire wake and Gabriel crooning to her softly as he gives her a bottle, but it doesn’t weigh on him as heavily as it would have just hours before. The next morning, he holds his baby in his arms as she takes her morning formula and watches in rapture as his daughter falls asleep in his arms for the first time in almost a month. Castiel still feels like he has a long way to go in reconnecting with his daughter, but he knows they’ll get there.

* * *

** _Friday, October 5, 2018_ **

“Come in,” Dean hears Cas call from inside the apartment.

Letting himself in with the key Cas gave him earlier this week, Dean steps into the apartment, closing and locking the door behind him. He’d been surprised, but pleased when Cas had taken him up on his offer to help Gabe and Charlie with Claire’s daycare pick-ups and drop-offs. 

Dean rounds the corner into the dining room to see a bleary-eyed Castiel curled protectively over a steaming cup of coffee, his wheelchair parked next to the dining room table.

Pulling out a chair, he raises his eyebrows and glances between the English teacher and the coffee mug he’s clutching like it’s the One Ring and he’s a half-drowned Hobbit. Cas looks as tired as Dean feels and he didn’t just finish an overnight shift at the firehouse, although it looks like he’s certainly pulled his own all-nighter.

“Rough night?”

Cas’ eyes drift to where Claire is playing nearby in her exersaucer and Dean chuckles. 

“I take it Claire’s not sleeping through the night?”

“People whose infants sleep through the night have clearly made deals with the devil. They aren’t to be trusted,” Cas grumbles as Dean tries not to notice how sexy the man looks with his morning stubble and bedhead. 

“You always this dramatic before you’re fully caffeinated?” Dean asks cheerfully, just to see Cas’ scowl deepen further.

The adorably grouchy English teacher pins Dean with a glare and flips him off for good measure.

“Mr. Milton,” Dean chides, gesturing at Claire in mock-horror, “there are _children _present.”

“In that case, let me demonstrate again,” Cas grumbles sarcastically, repeating the rude gesture, “I’d hate for her to suffer the embarrassment of trying to flip someone off for the first time and doing it wrong.”

“Asshole,” Dean grumbles good naturedly. “I’m guessing you’re the kind of parent who doesn’t mind swearing around your kid, then?”

Cas shrugs, “Right now I tend not to swear in Claire’s hearing simply because she’ll be at that age soon where she repeats everything she hears. When she’s older though, I don’t plan to shield her from the occasional profanity.”

At Dean’s questioning look, he elaborates, “I’m an English teacher. I love words. Like most things, words only have the value that we assign them. There are no such things as ‘good’ or ‘bad’ words, only words that should or shouldn’t be used in certain contexts or by certain people. Most children are able to understand that certain words are only allowed to be used by adults.”

“Makes sense,” Dean nods, “besides, with Gabe as her uncle, I think a little swearing is the least of your worries.”

Cas grimaces and Dean laughs before standing and walking over and dropping down next to Claire’s Cheerio-littered exersaucer. 

“Hey there, Blondie,” Dean says with a smile, “Looks like you’ve had quite the breakfast.”

Looking between Dean and the scattered mess around her, Claire reaches one chubby fist toward Dean, opening it to reveal a gummy Cheerio.

Chuckling, Dean takes the proffered Cheerio, “Aww, thanks cutie. Such a sweet girl to share your cereal with me. Do you mind if I take you to daycare today instead of Uncle GaGa?”

He stretches his arms out to Claire, grinning and lifting her out of the exersaucer when she reaches up to him. Suddenly remembering Cas’ reaction to Claire’s reaching for Gabe last weekend, Dean turns and looks uncertainly at his friend. He relaxes, however, when he sees Cas watching them with a small, but genuine smile. 

“Careful, or she’ll have you wrapped around her little finger in no time.”

“Too late,” Dean says decisively, nuzzling Claire’s hair and breathing in the baby powder scent of her shampoo, “You should have warned me sooner.”

Cas chuckles, “would it have mattered?”

“Not a bit,” Dean confirms, “what can I say? I’m a sucker for blue eyes.”

Cas’ eyebrows lift and Dean’s face heats as he realizes what he just said. 

_Winchester, you goddamn idiot! Next you can tell him all about how you’ve always had a thing for brunets. _

Turning to hide his red face, Dean reaches for Claire’s car seat where it’s sitting next to the dining room wall.

“Okay, Shorty, time to get you buckled in,” he says, depositing the car seat on the table and pretending that the last thirty seconds never happened. Cas, thankfully, goes along with it, reaching to take Claire from Dean as he readies the car seat.

“Goodbye, Bug,” he coos into Claire’s curls, kissing the side of her head, “Be a good girl for Dean and for Miss Anna.”

“It still feels wrong sending her to daycare when I’m home all day,” he adds, looking up at Dean, “even though logically I know that it’s not safe for me to be alone with her right now. Plus, if I don’t keep paying for her daycare slot I might lose it to someone else, then I’d have to find somewhere else to send her when I do go back to work.”

“Cas, you have two jobs right now: Rest and recover,” Dean says, leveling a stern gaze at his friend, “I may not spend a whole lot of time around kids, but I’m pretty sure there’s no resting when you’re chasing one around all day.”

“Especially not when said child has figured out she can currently reach places that Daddy can’t,” Cas adds ruefully as he passes Claire back to Dean. “Last night she crawled underneath the end table in the living room when I tried to take the tv remote away from her. I was helpless to do anything about it until Gabriel came in and fished her out.”

Dean busies himself with settling Claire into her carrier, ducking his head in an attempt to hide the way his lips are twitching as he fights down a laugh at Cas’ woeful expression.

Risking a glance at Cas, he sees the other man glaring at him.

Dean’s loses the battle with his rebellious lips and they quirk up into a grin.

Cas’ eyes narrow.

Dean snickers.

“It’s not funny, Dean.”

Dean guffaws.

“Okay, it’s not _that_ funny,” Cas retorts, but he’s betrayed by his own smile now.

Buckling Claire into her seat and still grinning, Dean clears his throat and tosses out, as casually as he can, “Oh, by the way, I’m supposed to invite you, Claire, and Gabe to join me, Sam, and Jess for dinner Sunday. We usually do a family-dinner-thing Sunday evenings. It’ll be an early thing. You’d be home by Claire’s bedtime.” He keeps his eyes glued to Claire’s car seat straps as he waits for Cas’ response.

“Dean, did you cancel your family dinner last weekend to come to my party?” Cas asks apologetically.

“Of course not,” Dean scoffs, “Sam and Jess were here too, weren’t they? We didn’t cancel Sunday dinner. We just relocated it.”

Dean takes a deep breath, “Besides, you’re kinda like family now too.” 

Seeing Cas’ eyebrows raising again in his peripheral vision, Dean adds, “After last weekend, Jess has pretty much decided to adopt you and if there’s one thing I’ve learned from watching Sam, it’s not to argue with that woman. No good can come of that.”

“Jess, huh?” Cas asks softly, lips twitching behind his coffee mug.

Clicking the last buckle on Claire’s carrier and having no excuses left not to, Dean meets Cas’ eyes and says gruffly, “That’s what I said, isn’t it? You guys in, or what?”

“Of course, Dean,” Cas answers softly, “we’d love to.”

“Great,” Dean answers with a relieved swallow, “That’s great. I’ll, uh, text you the time and address later.” 

Cas beams and Dean stands there for a moment, lost in Cas’ smile, until Claire shrieks from her position on the table, seemingly indignant at being trussed up in her seat but not going anywhere.

“Alright, keep your diaper on, you,” Dean grumbles affectionately, scooping the carrier up in one hand and waving goodbye to Cas as he heads toward the door.

Earlier exhaustion forgotten, Dean dances down the hallway toward the elevator, baby Claire squealing and giggling in her carrier on his arm. It’s gonna be a great weekend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, so _maybe_ not the bed scene you were hoping for, but it was cute, right?
> 
> What did you think of Dean's first meeting with Claire? How about Sam and Gabe? 
> 
> Next week: Sunday dinner with the Winchesters!
> 
> Folks who are affected by Daylight Savings Time, don't forget to set your clocks back tonight. Those who _don't_ have small children, enjoy your extra hour of sleep, you lucky bastards! The rest of us will be imagining ourselves throwing things at you an hour "earlier" in the morning as we sip our coffee and dread the hell that is bedtime after a time change. Speaking of which parents, let's crowd source. How do you handle the daylight-savings-bedtime madness? Do you cold turkey it and try to force the little demons to sleep an hour earlier? Do you do a gradual shift by moving bedtime 15 minutes a night until they're going to sleep at their "normal" time again? Or, do you just say "fuck it," feed them leftover Halloween candy, let them run around like rabid wolverines and take bets on what time and where they'll crash?? 
> 
> Hope to hear from you in the comments!


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Sunday dinner with the Winchesters, which is _not_ a date... followed by another dinner, which is... not a date?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone! Sorry I was a little slow on responding to comments this week. I've been at a conference for work all week, which means my days have been filled with... conferencing and I've had long, late nights of <strike>drinking</strike> networking.
> 
> I enjoyed reading about how all of you handle Daylight Savings Time with your kiddos. I ended up doing the sugar crash method by accident this year, since we had our bonfire the evening before the big switch. They were still so tired from that, they both crashed at the new time with no fuss. I've also found that leaving for a conference the entire week following the DST switch and letting your spouse deal with is another incredibly effective method. 😂
> 
> No content warnings for this week folks, so please enjoy!

** _Sunday, October 7, 2018_ **

“I have nothing to wear,” Castiel grouses, throwing yet another t-shirt back into his dresser drawer. He sighs. At this rate, he’s going to be exhausted before they even leave the house. He’d never realized what a complex task getting dressed is. 

“Nothing looks good when you’re sitting down the entire time and can’t even wear real pants,” he adds, glaring down at his navy yoga pants accusingly.

“You know it’s not a date, right?” Gabriel asks, amused, from where he’s lying on his back on Castiel’s bed, arms outstretched overhead, playing airplane with a squealing Claire.

“Of course, I know that,” Castiel bites out, transferring his glare to Gabriel, “Dean and I are just friends.” His ire softens however, as Gabriel swoops Claire low enough to blow raspberries on her belly. Gabriel has been there for him and Claire in so many ways since they moved here a year ago, but these past few weeks have definitely changed him. He was always a loving and doting uncle, but now the bond between him and Claire is something else entirely. Although Castiel still experiences those searing pangs of envy now and then, he’s also incredibly grateful that Claire has someone else in her life that loves her as fiercely as her father does. 

“I mean, Dean-O may not be the classiest guy on the planet, but I’m pretty sure even he wouldn’t invite your big brother and baby on your first date,” Gabriel breezes on and oh, look at that, Castiel’s annoyance is back, full throttle.

“Dean’s plenty classy,” Castiel defends his friend. At his brother’s eyebrow raise, he adds, “I’ve told you before, however, Dean and I are _just friends._ That’s all we’re ever going to be.” Castiel tries to keep his voice from sounding as bitter and brittle as he feels.

“Okay, but why?” Gabriel asks suddenly, turning on his side and laying Claire on her back next to him, “Dean seems like a pretty stand-up guy and even I can see that he’s a total stud.” He waggles his eyebrows.

Castiel shoots him a flat look. “You _know_ why. I have Claire. And a full-time job. And did you miss the part where I nearly died in a car accident a few weeks ago? I’m hardly in any condition to be anything more than friends with _anyone_ right now, let alone Dean.”

“No, pretty sure I remember every moment of past few weeks, _vividly_,” Gabriel says darkly and Castiel flinches, shoulders slumping in remorse. 

Sighing, Gabriel gets back to his point, “I’m not saying you need to jump right into playing the pizza man and the babysitter...”

“The pizza man and the babysitter?” Castiel interrupts, “why would we...”

“Or the plumber and the home owner with clogged pipes, whatever tickles your fancy,” his brother continues with another eyebrow waggle and Castiel rolls his eyes.

“Like I said, you don’t have snake his drain right away, but where’s the harm in priming the pump?”

“Don’t be crass,” Castiel chides.

“Seriously, though, Cassie, you should give this a chance,” Gabe pleads, voice and expression soft.

Castiel fists the shirt in his hands and stares down at his lap, “I can’t. Dean’s a young, single man with a dangerous and demanding job. I can’t expect him to take on an injured boyfriend and a nine-month-old baby. What happens when it’s too much? When _we’re_ too much?”

Gabriel sighs again, “Not every man is Bart, Cassie.”

When Castiel doesn’t respond, Gabe stands and scoops up Claire. 

“Wear the gray Henley,” he calls over his shoulder, “It makes your arms look great.”

Waiting until he hears Gabriel’s footsteps retreat down the hallway, Castiel pulls on the long-sleeved Henley.

* * *

“Shit! Sam! Where’d those red onions I brought go? And the brioche buns? And what happened to the good cheddar I left here last week?”

“Dean, relax. The red onions are over by the refrigerator, the buns are on the island, and the cheddar,” Sam’s head disappears inside the refrigerator and Dean can hear him rummaging around before he suddenly pops back into view, holding up a paper-wrapped package, “is behind the lunchmeat... that probably needs to be thrown away.” Wrinkling his nose, he tosses the questionable sliced turkey breast into the garbage before plunking the cheddar on the counter. 

“I am relaxed. Cas and Gabe are gonna be here any minute and I want to have everything prepped before they get here. So you,” he points a large butcher’s knife in Sam’s direction, “be helpful and slice up the tomatoes after you pull the bacon out of the fridge.”

Rolling his eyes, Sam reaches for another knife and cutting board before heading back to the large, stainless steel refrigerator for the tomatoes and bacon. 

“You know this isn’t a date, right?” he asks Dean as he moves to the sink to wash the tomatoes. Suddenly pausing, he turns to look back at Dean.

“Unless... it’s not a date, is it? Tell me you didn’t invite your new crush to family dinner for your _first _date?”

“Of course, it’s not a date, Samantha,” Dean says gruffly, “because like I’ve told you _at least_ half a dozen times, Cas and I are. _Just. Friends._” The last two words are punctuated with the loud thunk of the butcher’s knife against the bamboo cutting board as he chops the ends off each side of an onion.

“Sure,” Sam agrees easily, gingerly slicing the tomatoes, “because you always get this nervous when you cook for Charlie. Or Benny. Or Ash.” 

“I’m not _nervous_,” Dean grits out, “I just want everything to go well. That’s all.”

“Because you like him,” Sam says flatly.

“Of course, I like him, Sam. He’s my friend, remember?” 

“Don’t play dumb, Dean,” this time it’s Sam brandishing the knife. Why did he think letting his brother cook with him was a good idea, again?

“Then drop it, Sam. You heard Cas last week at his party. He already shot down the idea of me and him when Charlie tried to set us up. He’s not interested.” Dean keeps his eyes focused on the knife and cutting board as he carefully cuts the onion into thin slices.

“He wasn’t interested _a year ago_, Dean. I didn’t hear him say anything about not being interested now.”

“Trust me, Sam. His feelings haven’t changed. Cas isn’t looking for a boyfriend. What he needs right now, is a friend.” Dumping the onion slices into a bowl, Dean turns to wash his hands at the sink.

“In that case,” Sam says softly, “be careful, okay? Maybe...” Sam pauses, “maybe you shouldn’t get in so deep.”

Dean opens his mouth for an angry retort, but Sam throws up his hands in supplication, “Look, I like Cas. I really do, but I know you, Dean. You don’t fall often, but when you do, you fall hard. I just don’t want you to get hurt.” He shoots Dean the same puppy dog eyes that always got him to hand over the last Oreo when they were kids and Dean sighs.

“Look, Sammy, I’ve only known the guy for a month. I think it’s a little soon to be talking about any kind of ‘falling’ here... but I’ll keep what you said in mind.”

“That’s all I’m asking.”

Looking satisfied, Sam dries his hands on a towel and leaves the kitchen. Dean finishes prepping the vegetables, steadfastly ignoring the voice in the back of his head that tells him Sam’s advice might already be a little too late.

* * *

Castiel shifts nervously in his wheelchair, holding a squirming Claire on his lap as Gabriel rings the doorbell at the Winchester-Moore apartment. A moment later, the door is opened by a beaming Jessica, who hugs Gabe before planting a kiss on Castiel’s cheek and scooping Claire into her arms. 

“I’m stealing your baby,” she announces needlessly, turning and walking back into the apartment, calling over her shoulder as she goes. “Follow me into the living room. Sam’s in there waiting already and Dean’s finishing up in the kitchen.”

“I brought dessert,” Gabriel announces, holding up the pecan pie he’d brought home from his bakery the day before. It had been quite the adventure trying to get the pie, Castiel’s chair, and Claire into the elevator and up to Sam and Jessica’s apartment. It had reminded Castiel of that old logic puzzle about having to row a wolf, a goat, and a cabbage all across a river. In their case, they found that one person could either wheel Castiel or hold Claire _or_ the pie, that anyone holding _both_ Claire _and _the pie together was a terrible idea, and that one person holding a pie in one hand whilst steering one side of a wheelchair with his other while another holds a squirming baby in one arm whilst using his other to propel the _other_ side of the wheelchair is difficult and probably hilarious to onlookers, but ultimately doable.

“That’s great,” Sam says from his spot on the loveseat, “go ahead and set it in the kitchen, just through there.” He gestures to a doorway on the far side of the room and Gabriel heads toward it.

“Just tell Dean he’d better stay out of it until after dinner!” Jessica calls after him.

“Dean loves pie,” she explains, turning to Castiel.

“I know,” he grins, “that’s why I asked Gabriel to bring one.”

Jessica’s smile turns knowing, but before she can respond, Dean enters the room from the kitchen, a beige dish towel slung over one broad shoulder. He looks amazing in dark blue jeans and a brown button-up undone over a black t-shirt. Castiel once again curses his lack of normal pants and is at least grateful he followed Gabriel’s advice and wore the gray Henley. It really does draw attention to his well-defined biceps. 

“Dinner’s ready,” Dean announces, “come and get it, you wild animals.” Sam and Jessica both bound to their feet and head toward the dining room obediently, Jessica still carrying Claire. 

Shaking his head, Dean looks between the two of them, “I swear, you two would starve without me.”

“It’s true,” Jessica chimes, stopping to plant a kiss on Dean’s cheek as she makes her way into the dining room, “I should have proposed to the Winchester that could cook. What was I thinking?”

“Hey! I heard that!” Sam calls from the dining room.

Dean tickles Claire under the chin and drops a kiss on the top of her head before turning to Castiel, “And Cas, fair warning, if that pie tastes as good as it looks, I might just have to run away with your brother. Look after these two when I’m gone.” He jerks his thumb in the direction of his brother and future sister-in-law.

“Oh, it absolutely does, Dean-o,” Gabriel declares, “just like me.” He turns and shoots a flirtatious wink at Sam, who rolls his eyes. Jessica snorts into her hand.

As Castiel wheels up to the table, he catches sight of their meal and grins at Dean, “Dean-burgers?”

“Of course,” says Dean with an answering grin, “I promised you, didn’t I?”

“I see Dean’s already been bragging to you about his ‘famous’ homemade burgers,” Sam grumbles, “unfortunately, they’re every bit as amazing as he says they are.”

“It kills you to admit that, doesn’t it,” Dean asks with a mock-affronted expression.

“You have no idea,” Sam deadpans, prompting a triumphant grin from Dean and laughter from the rest of the table. 

The burgers really do look amazing. Each burger sits on an open-faced brioche bun, topped with caramelized red onions, feta cheese, and what looks to be some kind of spicy aioli. As Cas takes his first bite, he can’t help the quiet moan that escapes him.

“You can’t have him, Gabriel,” he says after he’s swallowed the best mouthful of burger he’s eaten in... well, ever probably. 

“These make me very happy,” he adds before taking another bite as Dean chuckles.

Dinner continues pleasantly, the conversation shifting effortlessly from topic to topic. Sam and Castiel have a fascinating discussion about one of Sam’s recent cases, Jessica entertains all of them with embarrassing stories about the two brothers, and Dean becomes quite indignant when he discovers that Castiel has never seen one of his favorite childhood movie franchises.

“How can you never have seen _Indiana Jones?” _he asks, mouth agape.

Castiel shrugs, “Gabriel and I had a very... strict upbringing. We weren’t allowed to watch many movies, so the only ones I really saw were those Gabriel snuck me out to see and he didn’t feel it was worth risking our mother’s ire for anything with a rating less than PG-13.”

“Well, that, and it was just more fun that way. Besides, who wants to admit to their friends that they’re sneaking out to see a G rated movie?” Gabriel asks with a grimace.

Turning to Dean, Castiel confesses, “I didn’t even see _Star Wars_ until I was an adult.”

Dean’s mouth drops open in horror and Gabriel laughs, “that’s what passes for Cassie’s wild and rebellious college experimentation.”

“Well, that and all the gay sex,” Castiel counters, causing Sam to choke on his beer and Jess to chortle into her wine glass.

“Well we’re fixing this _Indiana Jones_ travesty,” Dean says before announcing decisively, “movie marathon!”

“Oh no! Not in my apartment!” Jess says loudly, pointing at Dean with the fork she’s been using to feed Claire small bite of burger and tomato on her lap, “Cas can watch you drool over Harrison Ford at his place.”

As Dean grumbles about ungrateful future-sisters-in-law, Jess turns to Castiel, “So, Cas, do you have a costume picked out for Claire’s first Halloween?” Castiel smiles, inexplicably warmed by Jess’ switch from his given name to Dean’s nickname for him and then realizing he too, has at some point switched from thinking of his new friend as “Jessica” to referring to her in his head by Dean’s preferred, “Jess.”

“Not yet,” he admits, “I’ve looked at a few online, but everything I’ve found that I like is either ridiculously expensive or has terrible reviews.”

“Hmm,” Dean cuts in, stroking his chin in an exaggerated thinking gesture, “Let’s see, short, round, and chubby-cheeked.” He pauses to pinch Claire’s cheek lightly, making the baby giggle. “I know! She and Gabe can be twins and go as Tweedle Dee,” he gestures at Claire, then, smirking, at Gabriel, “and Tweedle Dum.”

Gabe swallows his bite of pecan pie and smirks back at Dean, “I’m game, Dean-o, as long as we make it a group costume and you go as Alice.” He looks Dean up and down, giving him a lewd smile, “You don’t quite have Sammy’s stems, but I think you can pull off the skirt.”

“Actually,” Jess says, tapping her chin thoughtfully, “I kind of like it.” 

“Plus, since Alice in ONEderland,” she annunciates, holding up a finger to signal the number one, “is a popular first birthday party theme, you could always do that for her party and reuse her costume!”

Castiel looks to Dean, Sam, and Gabriel in alarm, all of whom look back at him with equally blank faces, “I have to have a theme?” 

* * *

** _Saturday, October 13, 2018_ **

“Cas?” Dean calls out as he walks into the apartment, Claire’s baby carrier looped over his arm, the baby inside still snoring softly. “Wish I could sleep like that,” Dean chuckles softly to the slumbering tot.

In here,” Cas calls from the dining room and Dean heads toward him, pausing to deposit the car seat and its napping occupant in the living room. As he rounds the corner into the dining room he suddenly stumbles, heart jumping into his throat.

“Cas!” he croaks, eyes wide.

“Hello Dean,” Cas answers calmly from where he’s _standing_ at the dining room table.

Taking an involuntary step forward, Dean swallows and attempts to force his heart back down where it belongs before gasping, “You’re standing! Are you supposed to be standing?”

Gaping openly, Dean lets his eyes rove up and down Cas’ standing form. He looks good: his body long and lean, exactly as Dean had pictured him. Gaze trailing upward from Cas’ feet, Dean notices how tightly his hands grip the edge of the dining room table and his mouth tightens as he reminds himself, _again, _not to perv on his injured, _healing_ friend. 

His eyes narrow as they reach Cas’ face and he sees the man’s lips twitching suspiciously. 

Noticing Dean’s sudden change in demeanor, Cas dissolves into laughter.

“I’m sorry, Dean, but your face,” Cas laughs, “my physical therapist visited yesterday and suggested that I practice standing for a few minutes at a time in order to build my stamina and prevent muscle contractures in my upper thighs.” 

Dean glares at Cas, partially to express his displeasure with Cas laughing at him and partially to prevent his eyes from dropping to his friend’s thighs. 

“Alright, Chuckles. Sit down before you hurt yourself,” he says gruffly.

Cas reaches behind himself for the wheelchair’s armrests and gingerly lowers himself down, wincing as he settles himself into the seat. 

“You okay?” Dean asks, annoyance replaced with concern.

“Fine,” Cas answers dismissively, “it’s just a little uncomfortable, going from sitting to standing and vice versa. It only lasts a minute though.”

“In that case, you deserved that,” Dean says, pointing at the man accusingly. He pretends his heart _doesn’t_ flutter behind his ribs at Cas’ answering grin.

“That was nothing compared to Gabriel’s reaction yesterday. He came around the corner from the kitchen and could only see my empty chair at first. He thought I’d fallen out and was lying unconscious on the floor. He came running in here so fast, his socks slid on the laminate and he was the one who ended up on the floor.”

Dean barks out a laugh, “Good to know I’m not the only one you’ve scared the pants off of this week. We still on for dinner and _Indiana Jones_ tonight?”

“Only if you’re still planning on cooking,” Cas answers easily, “I had Gabriel stop by the store yesterday to pick up the list of ingredients you requested.”

“You know, I’m not really sure you deserve my chicken-al-a-Dean after that stunt you pulled earlier.”

“Did I mention there’s pie?”

“Sold,” Dean responds immediately.

Cas grins. “Also, do you all of your recipes include your name?”

“Only the best ones,” Dean flirts with a wink, “My pot-roast always ends up dry and a little bland. I call it ‘Roast Samsquatch.’”

Rolling his eyes, Cas changes the subject, “Thanks again for picking Claire up tonight. Kevin’s back, but Gabriel lost one of his other weekend closers, so he’ll be pulling some late shifts until he can find another college student with a pathetic enough social life to be willing to work until one AM on a Saturday night.”

“No problem, man. Sleeping Beauty snoozed through the whole ride. I think all the excitement today wore her out,” Dean assures him as he begins pulling out the ingredients for tonight’s dinner.

“How did the fundraiser go?” Cas asks, perking up in interest. Since Gabriel and Dean were both working this afternoon, Charlie had taken Claire with her to a fundraising event for Shawnee Mission North’s newly created Gender and Sexuality Alliance.

“It was great. Charlie said the turn out from the high school was pretty great and the restaurant sponsoring the event did a good job of booting the few bigoted assholes that tried to cause trouble.”

They chat some more about the GSA and their plans for the high school, with Charlie supporting as their faculty advisor. Cas explains that officially, he’s listed as the group’s second faculty sponsor, but his accident occurred before they’d even had their first meeting. He’s looking forward to being a part of it when he goes back to work though. 

“Speaking of which,” Cas segues, and Dean looks up from the bell pepper he’s slicing, “I have my first follow-up appointment with my orthopedic surgeon next Tuesday. I’ll get an update on my prognosis and find out how much longer I’ll be off work.” 

Cas begins to fidget in his chair and Dean thinks he might know where this conversation is headed. “That’s great,” he says, “is Gabe taking you?”

“Well, he would, of course. He’d have to take the day off work though and I know how hard that is when he’s the owner. I was wondering, um, since you have the day off... if it’s not too much of an inconvenience, and I’ll understand if it is or if you already have plans...”

Hiding a smile, Dean decides to put his friend out of his misery, “Of course I can take you, Cas.”

“Are you sure?” Cas asks nervously and Dean rolls his eyes good-naturedly.

“Wouldn’t have said it otherwise. Besides, that’s what friends are for.”

“Thank you, Dean. You’re a good friend.”

Dean turns back to his bell pepper so Cas won’t see his blush, “Don’t mention it. It won’t take long for this to cook if you wanna start waking Sleeping Beauty over there.” 

Cas wakes Claire where she sleeps, still in her carrier, on the living room floor. Dean takes a quick break from the stove to lift the baby out of her car seat and onto her father’s lap, then darts back to the kitchen. Cas manages to get Claire undressed down to her diaper and buckled into her high chair while Dean finishes their meal.

“This looks and smells delicious, Dean. Thank you,” says Cas warmly as he turns his chair to face the table and begins ladling Chicken-a-la-Dean over biscuits on he and Claire’s plates.

“No problem, man. Pass the salt?” Dean dodges the praise with a faint blush.

Their conversation flows as easily as usual over their dinner and the entire meal seems to be going incredibly smoothly until...

“Aaaaaaaaack!” Claire releases a sudden and shrill screech as she reaches from her highchair toward the dining room table, causing both men at the table to start violently.

“What is it Claire-Bear?” asks Cas, reaching over to smooth Claire’s hair with his hand, “What do you need?”

The nine-month-old, shockingly, doesn’t answer... or at least not in a pitch anyone but dogs can understand.

“Aaaaaaaack,” she screeches again, making chubby-baby-grabby-hands at the table, clearly irritated that no one is fulfilling her very clear and reasonable demand.

“Do you want more biscuit?” Cas asks, reaching out with a piece of biscuit, which Claire promptly knocks to the floor.

“How about some water?” Dean asks next, handing Claire her Minnie Mouse sippy cup with the pink handles. Claire takes the cup and inspects it for a quick moment, before chucking it onto the floor, where it lands with a heavy thud.

“Aaaaaaack!”

“What does she want?” Dean asks, voice taking on a frantic edge as he raises it to be heard over Claire’s shrieking. 

Cas rolls his eyes. “If I knew, don’t you think I would have given it to her already?” 

Turning to Claire, he asks, “More chicken?” before scooping more Chicken-a-la-Dean onto Claire’s dish, which lands, plate-and-all, next to the sippy.

“Do all babies sound like angry pterodactyls, or is this a special talent?”

Glaring at Dean, Cas answers, “How am I supposed to know? She happens to be the only baby I’ve ever had. It’s not like they come with instruction manuals.”

“Aaaaaaack!”

“Well, they oughtta,” Dean grouses, “poor planning, is what that is. Terrible customer service.”

“I’ll be sure to mention that when I fill out my customer satisfaction survey,” Cas snarks. 

Wincing as Claire’s screams go up in both pitch and volume, Dean retrieves the plate from the floor and refills it, then leans back in his chair and, ignoring the ringing in his surely soon-to-be-bleeding ears, studies the red-faced infant as she continues to make grabby hands at the table. Eyes darting between Claire and the table, Dean leans forward and picks up the salt shaker from the middle of the table.

“This?” he asks the baby, dangling the shaker just out of reach. 

Claire stops screaming and reaches for the salt shaker, giving a wobbly, but unmistakable nod.

“Salt?” asks Cas incredulously. “She must have seen you salt your food earlier. She’s really too young for table salt, Dean,” Cas says as Dean stretches the salt shaker toward Claire’s plate.

“Relax, Cas,” Dean soothes, “I’ve got it covered.” Pressing his thumb over the openings in the top of the shaker, Dean pretends to shake salt over Claire’s meal.

Claire beams at him before happily digging both hands into her food.

Both men slouch back in their seats, sighing in relief. 

* * *

“I’m sorry about dinner,” Castiel blurts suddenly as Dean settles next to him on the couch. They’ve just finished putting Claire to bed. Dean had bathed Claire while Castiel gave directions from the doorway and although both men were clearly more than a little nervous about the entire situation, Castiel has to admit that his friend is a natural with his daughter. Claire adores Dean and she didn’t even fuss when Dean was the one to lay her down in her crib after Castiel handed her a bottle and kissed her goodnight. 

The whole evening has been startlingly... domestic. As much as Castiel’s been enjoying himself, it’s also left him feeling inexplicably unsettled.

“What about it?” Deans asks, seemingly in confusion.

“The ‘angry pterodactyl’ screaming,” Castiel answers, hooking his fingers in air quotes as he repeats Dean’s earlier words, “I know it was... grating.”

“Aw, no sweat, Cas,” Dean says with a sympathetic smile. “It’s not like it was your fault... or hers. I may not spend a lot of time with babies, but I’m pretty sure screaming is just part of the package. Besides,” he grins, “you should hear Sam when he’s hungry.”

“Still, you’re a young, single man. Hanging out with a screaming baby can’t be your ideal Saturday night. Claire should sleep until well after Gabriel’s home. If...” Castiel forces himself to spit out the rest of his sentence, “If you have other things to do, I’d understand. You don’t have to stay.”

“You don’t want to watch movies?” Dean asks, looking hurt. “We don’t actually have to watch _Indiana Jones_ if you don’t want to.”

_Shit._ Castiel is an asshole. He rushes to erase the crestfallen expression from Dean’s face, “No! I mean, _yes_, of course I want to watch movies with you, Dean.” _I really do._

At Dean’s tentative smile, he continues, “I just don’t want you to feel like you _have_ to be here just because Gabriel is working late.”

“Okay, first of all, you’re younger than I am. Second, you’re as single as I am. Third, maybe _some _guys wouldn’t want to hang out with you and Claire, but those guys are assholes who aren’t worth your time anyways. Look, I know I got a little flustered with the whole pterodactyl thing, but I didn’t mean to make you feel like I’d rather be somewhere else.”

Dean clears his throat and turns toward Cas, a faint blush staining his cheeks, “Screaming baby or not, having dinner with one of my best friends and his awesome kid and then watching movies all night sounds like a pretty perfect Saturday night to me.”

Castiel feels his own cheeks heat. When he first made these plans with Dean, they hadn’t sounded quite as date-like as they did just now. He takes a look at the other man. Is it his imagination, or is Dean dressed a little nicer than a movie marathon with a friend calls for? His maroon button down over a black t-shirt may not be standard first date apparel, but it’s certainly nicer than the usual band t-shirt or flannel he sees Dean in when he picks Claire up on his way home from the station. 

Castiel’s eyes trail upwards, catching for a long moment on the other man’s mouth. He hadn’t noticed just how close he and Dean are sitting. Watching as Dean’s tongue slips out to wet his cupid’s bow lips, Castiel thinks about how _easy_ it would be to lean forward and feel the press of those lips against his own. He’s so lost in the man sitting next to him that he’s almost forgotten _why _he can’t let himself kiss, and touch, and taste. 

At least, he forgets until a sudden frantic buzzing from his phone makes both men jerk apart guiltily. 

Fumbling with the alarm and still a little dazed by Dean’s proximity, Castiel explains, “It’s time for another dose of pain medication. I need my meds from the table.”

“I’ll get them,” Dean says in a rush, jumping up from the couch so quickly it nearly knocks Castiel off balance. A moment later, Dean is back with Castiel’s pill sorter. Between pain medications, post-operative antibiotics, vitamins, and stool softeners (and he would rather not think about the reasons for needing _those_, thank you very much), Castiel takes eight different medications each day, all at varying times and in varying doses. The daily pill sorter is a necessary evil.

“I hate using this thing,” he grumbles, ducking his head to hide his embarrassment from the firefighter sitting next to him. “It makes me feel so _old_.”

Dean grins mischievously, “You think that’s bad, just wait till you start walking again... with a _walker_. We’ll even make sure to get you one with those neon green tennis balls on the bottom.”

Castiel glares at him, “I changed my mind. Instead of _Indiana _Jones we’re going to watch _Bridget _Jones.”

“Wait,” Dean says as Cas pops open the next compartment in his pill sorter and downs the pills inside, “Do you mean to tell me that you’ve never watched _any_ of the Indiana Jones movies, but you’ve seen _Bridget Jones’s Diary_? No. No way. We are _definitely_ watching Indy. Remote.”

Dean cocks an eyebrow and sticks out his hand demandingly. Castiel obediently hands over the remote, relieved that their awkward... moment seems to have passed. 

Rolling his eyes, Castiel settles in next to his friend to watch the movie, determinedly ignoring the distracting heat of Dean’s shoulder, pressed up against his own.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed that big ball of domestic fluff. I know I did! Did anyone figure out what Claire wanted at the table before Dean did? Screeching-baby-charades is every parent's favorite game. If you have kiddos, what was the weirdest thing you were able to figure out they wanted?
> 
> And, since a lot of my questions are parent-centered and I don't want to leave any of my readers out, if you DON'T have kids, you can feel free to substitute "drunk-people-charades" into the question above. 😂
> 
> I've heard our latest Jensen-directed episode was both dark and visually stunning! I'm still not caught up, but I'm thinking about trying to get there today! Non-spoilery comments on the episode are welcome and encouraged!
> 
> Next Week: More Destiel <strike>flirting</strike> texting, Dean and Cas find themselves back in bed together, and we meet another old friend!


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Summaries are hard.
> 
> Cas and Dean are being romantic idiots. Stuff happens (not that stuff, though).
> 
> Oh look, it's the summary of every chapter so far. 😂

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!!
> 
> Thank you all for your wonderful, lovely comments last week! I adore each and every one of them and you! I hope you all had a great week and have lots of fun this weekend! I celebrated my 10 year anniversary last weekend and spent a lovely weekend away (from the kids... I took the spouse, grudgingly). 😂
> 
> Check the end notes for chapter warnings if you think you might need to!

** _Thursday, October 18, 2018_ **

Castiel winces as he lifts himself from the shower chair to his wheelchair. He’s been trying to stretch the time between his pain pills the way the pain management doctor he’d seen a couple of weeks ago suggested, but he doesn’t think he’s going to make it the full seven hours between pills today. If he can last two more hours, that’ll be six and Castiel thinks that isn’t bad, considering he’d come home from the hospital a few weeks ago needing them every four. Dr. Hawkins had also seemed impressed by that at Castiel’s orthopedic follow-up Tuesday, though he had cautioned Castiel to take the meds when he needed them and not to suffer needlessly. That reminder, along with a sudden throb from the left side of his pelvis, solidifies his decision not to try to make it past the six hour mark. 

The rest of his appointment yesterday had gone well too, Castiel muses as he uses his reacher to hold his boxers and flannel pants before gingerly lifting each aching leg into them. They’d taken x-rays and Dr. Hawkins had assured him that he was healing as expected and would be back on his feet again in a few more months. Dean had driven him into the city as promised and although the drive itself was still nerve-wracking, he didn’t have any more panic attacks and only had to close his eyes a couple of times, when other cars veered too close. Dean noticed but, thankfully, hadn’t drawn attention to the fact and for that, Castiel was incredibly grateful. The list of things he’s grateful for when it comes to the green-eyed firefighter seems to be constantly growing, in fact. 

Catching his own eye in the mirror as he prepares to wheel out of the bathroom, Castiel pauses, then turns the chair to face the mirror. After peeling off the long stretch of gauze and waterproof adhesive pads that cover the laceration on his side, he removes the two from lower on his torso as well. Gripping the arm rests of his wheelchair, he grunts as he pushes himself to his feet. He practices standing every day now, but it doesn’t usually hurt like this. His face pales in the mirror, but Castiel grits his teeth and grips the vanity countertop to hold himself vertical. Eyes on his reflection, he lets his gaze trail down the jagged cut along his ribcage, still stitched and healing, to the twin surgical scars on either side of his pelvis. The surgical scars are hidden as best they can be in the creases of his thighs, but at this angle they’re still visible. He has two additional scars on his back that there’s absolutely no way of hiding. 

Sighing, he lowers himself back into his chair, grimacing in pain at the sudden pressure on his pelvis. He’s never considered himself a vain man, but apparently that was a lie. He and Dean had stopped for wings on the way home from his appointment Tuesday afternoon. When Castiel ordered the atomic wings, Dean winked and quipped, “The hottest wings they have for the hottest guy in the place.” Castiel had turned as red as the wings then, but today, looking at his stitched and scarred body in the bathroom mirror, the words seem almost like a mockery. Oh well, at least Dean will never see how wrong he was about Castiel’s level of attractiveness.

_Stop being so dramatic,_ he chides himself with an internal eye roll. He’s not sure if it’s the medication or the pain making him so morose, but he’s even annoying himself.

Wheeling himself into the bedroom, the pattering sound of rain on glass draws Castiel’s attention to the window. Outside, the rain falls steadily against a dreary gray backdrop, the colors of the trees and grass muted by the stormy weather and the changing seasons. They are well and truly into Fall now, the heat of a Kansas summer just a memory and the current storm blowing in with a chill that sets an ache in Castiel’s shattered bones. He’d barely gotten any sleep last night. He couldn’t seem to get comfortable when every movement brought on a fresh wave of pain. Thinking of the late-night storm turns his thoughts to Dean again as he cleans and redresses the wounds on his front. Gabriel will help him change the bandages on his backside later. 

It had rained all through Dean’s overnight shift, which means it was probably a busy night for the fire department. Bad weather means more auto accidents especially, and Castiel is sure the endless downpour probably made responding to such accidents even more difficult and tiring. He hopes his friend made it home okay, exhausted as he must have been. Glancing at his phone where it sits innocently on his nightstand, Castiel bites his lip. Dean’s been a firefighter for a long time. He’s worked hundreds of overnight shifts and has always made it home safely. Dean knows how to take care of himself. In fact, he’s probably home sleeping right now. He doesn’t need Castiel checking in on him, possibly disturbing his much-needed rest.

Castiel picks up his phone.

Today, 8:27 AM

You SENT:

Hello Dean. 

I’m sorry to bother you if you’re already sleeping. 

I just wanted to make sure you got home okay from your shift.

It’s raining pretty hard out there.

_He says to the man who just spent ALL NIGHT out in said rain. He KNOWS it’s raining Castiel, you complete dunce. _

Castiel groans as soon as he sits, “send,” on the final message and wishes fervently that text messaging had an “undo” option. WHY has no one invented that yet? He’s rescued from his mental self-flagellation by an incoming message from Dean.

Today, 8:28 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

Worried about me Cas? 😉

A blush warms Castiel’s cheeks, but before he can even begin to think up a response to that which is anything less than totally humiliating, his phone pings again.

Today, 8:29 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

And no worries. Not asleep yet. Just laying in bed watching The Office.

Just got home a few minutes ago actually. Hell of a night.

How are you feeling this morning?

Today, 8:32 AM

You SENT:

I’m sure.

I’ve been better. I’m apparently doomed to be one of those old men who complains about their bones aching every time it rains.

Today, 8:33 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

I wondered about that. 

Also, now I’m picturing you sitting in a rocking chair on a porch somewhere, shaking your walker at the neighborhood kids and yelling at them to keep off your lawn.

Despite his pain, Castiel quirks a smile at Dean’s teasing as he eases himself back into bed. There’s no way he’s going to be able to sit in his chair for very long today.

Today, 8:36 AM

You SENT:

What do I look like? Am I bald and wrinkled? 🤨

Today, 8:38 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

Today, 8:39 AM

You SENT:

ಠ_ಠ

Today, 8:38 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

😂😂😂

Nah. I’m jk. You’re totally a silver fox.

Castiel swallows. Flirting with Dean was fun and exciting when it was just an abstract concept; when Castiel was certain that Dean wasn’t attracted to him and that he himself was just indulging in a harmless crush. He’d been confident that his attraction to the handsome firefighter would be fleeting and one-sided. More and more however, he’s begun to suspect that his attraction is not as unrequited as he’d originally thought. 

He’s still of the belief that Dean’s a natural flirt and that the teasing banter he engages in with Castiel is more reflexive than intentional, but there are times... times when Castiel gets the distinct impression that Dean might want _more_ with him: a lingering look, a hand that rests on his arm just a little bit longer than standard for strictly platonic friends, a smile that’s more shy than flirtatious. 

Now that he senses _possibility _with Dean, flirting with him is... well, okay, it’s still fun, but it’s also terrifying. Castiel wasn’t expecting someone like Dean to come into his life. He’s not prepared for this.

That doesn’t stop the grin from spreading across his face when he sees Dean’s next message, though.

Today, 8:40 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

Oooooh! I know...

Today, 8:40 AM

You SENT:

Acceptable.

Today, 8:41 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

Srsly though, how bad is the pain?

Today, 8:42 AM

You SENT:

It’s the worst it’s been since coming home. I’m currently laying in bed myself and I’ll probably be here the rest of the day. ☹

Today, 8:43 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

That sucks, man. You want some company? I can watch The Office anywhere.

For you, I’ll even put on pants. 😉

Castiel flushes as an image of Dean in his bed, most definitely _not_ wearing pants, pops into his head. 

_Stop being ridiculous_, he chides himself. _ Dean’s offering to come over and watch TV__. _Besides, Castiel reasons, it’s not like he’d be able to actually _do_ anything with Dean right now even if they were both so inclined... which he’s _not_. 

His eyes dart to the TV mounted above the dresser directly across from his bed and thank goodness Dean’s not here to see how much deeper Castie’s blush gets. The TV is a new addition to the room, having been added by Gabriel last weekend after he came home to find Dean and Castiel asleep on the couch following their _Indiana Jones_ marathon. He’d claimed it was because he didn’t want Castiel and his boyfriend (“He’s _just a friend_, Gabriel.”), “canoodling,” on his bed, but Castiel knew his big brother hadn’t missed his sounds of pain as he stretched out his cramped and aching limbs after falling asleep in such an uncomfortable position.

Right now though, it’s the thought of falling asleep and waking up next to Dean that takes front-and-center in Castiel’s mind. 

Today, 8:47 AM

Dean Winchester SENT:

Cas? I was just teasing with the pants thing. 

I mean, of course I’ll wear pants.

I don’t have to come over if you don’t want me to.

But I’d like to.

If you want me to.

God, I’m a dumbass.

Why don’t texts have an “undo” button?

I’m gonna stop texting now.

Castiel bites the inside of his lips to try and stifle the grin that threatens to erupt at Dean’s last few messages. It’s not fair for someone to be _that _attractive and _that _adorable at the same time. 

He should tell Dean not to come over. Dean needs his sleep and Castiel desperately needs to distance himself from the stupidly gorgeous, adorably dorky firefighter before his burgeoning crush develops into full blown _feelings_ for the man who’s so quickly become one of his best friends.

Yes, he should definitely tell Dean not to come over.

Today, 8:55 AM

You SENT: Let yourself in when you get here.

* * *

“Oh Lucy, I’m home,” Dean calls out in an absolutely terrible impression of Ricky Ricardo.

“Bedroom,” comes Cas’ single-word response in that gravel-laced voice Dean is coming to lo-_like_ more with each passing day. It sounds strained today though and Dean frowns. The memory of Cas curled over on himself that day in the hospital is still seared into Dean’s memory and he’s more than a little nervous about what state his friend is in today.

Walking into Cas’ room after leaving his shoes and keys by the door, Dean’s eyes rove over his friend where he’s lying tucked under the blankets in his bed, face drawn and pale. Cas attempts a smile when he sees Dean, but it doesn’t reach his blue eyes, which are so dull today they almost match the ugly gray clouds outside. The rain has slowed to a drizzle at least, but Cas probably won’t get any relief until the storm moves out entirely.

“Well, don’t you look cozy,” Dean tries for a light tone, but it sounds fake and brassy even to him and he grimaces.

Cas quirks a wry smile, “Do I look that bad?”

“Never,” Dean says automatically, then turns to face the TV so Cas won’t catch his blush, “So, uh, _The Office_? Or did you have something else in mind?”

“Dunder Mifflin is fine with me,” Cas answers, reaching for the remote on his nightstand and cuing up the show on Netflix.

“Awesome,” Dean affirms, “Want anything before we settle in and I pass out on you?”

Cas gives a noncommittal shrug and Dean narrows his eyes, “Have you eaten anything today?”

“No,” Cas grumbles, “I was in too much pain to make something and the only thing that sounds even remotely good right now is ice cream anyway.”

“Is there ice cream in your freezer?” Dean asks, already moving back toward the bedroom door. He hopes Cas has ice cream on hand, otherwise it’s going to mean a very wet trek to the grocery store down the street, because no way is Cas _not_ getting ice cream right now.

“Dean, it’s 9:30 in the morning,” Cas responds incredulously. “Ice cream isn’t a breakfast food.”

“It is if you eat it for breakfast,” Dean counters. 

Cas tilts his head to the side, apparently stymied by Dean’s flawless logic. 

Dean smirks.

“There should be a half-gallon of chocolate in the freezer,” Cas finally concedes, “but you have to have some too.”

“Duh,” Dean says with a roll of his eyes, “Like I was really gonna sit there and let you eat ice cream in front of me.”

Cas’ answering smile is soft and affectionate and Dean hurries to the kitchen in a completely fucking futile attempt to escape the way his heart has sped up.

When he returns, Cas gives him the same sappy smile as he takes one of the bowls from Dean and Dean swears he can actually _feel_ his heart flip flop in his chest. 

_Settle down, Winchester. That smile’s probably for the ice cream, not you. You make faces a fuck ton sappier than that when you see pie._

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says, clearly oblivious to Dean’s cardiac irregularities, before folding the sheets on the other half of his queen-size bed down and gesturing to the spot next to him, “You’re welcome to join me. You look dead on your feet.”

Dean swallows at the thought of getting under the covers with Cas. 

Hoping the dark-haired man doesn’t notice his sudden discomfort, not to mention his heated cheeks, Dean dons a cheeky grin, “You know, Cas, there are easier ways to get me in bed.”

Dean’s pretty sure Cas’ cheeks have a little more color now than they did when he first came in the room, but the composure doesn’t waver when he responds drily, “Easier than crashing my car, nearly dying, and fracturing my pelvis in seven places? But, it’s my signature move.”

“Smartass,” Dean chuckles, sliding into the bed next to Cas, who presses play on the remote. They lie there, eating their chocolate ice cream side-by-side, as Dwight discovers that Jim has suspended his stapler in Jello again.

The sun has already started to set, the sky rosy and warm through the bedroom window, when Cas shakes Dean awake. Apparently, the storm had finally moved on while Dean slept and he feels a groggy sense of relief that his friend should rest easier tonight.

“Dean,” Cas’ voice is as warm as the orange splash of sunlight across the comforter still covering both of them and Dean feels it settle into his bones, “if you want to go home and take a shower and grab something to eat before your shift tonight, you need to get up now.”

“Mmph,” Dean responds in muffled agreement, pushing himself upright and running and hand over his face. 

“I’m sorry,” Cas says nervously, winding a loose string on the comforter around his finger, “I would have woken you sooner, but I just woke up myself.”

Dean pauses a moment as the realization that he and Cas have now fallen asleep together _twice_, this time in Cas’ _bed_, sinks in. He has the fleeting thought that he wouldn’t mind falling asleep and waking up together a whole lot more often, but shakes his head to dispel it. 

_F.R.I.E.N.D.S. Winchester. _

Now the _Friends _TV show theme song is playing in Dean’s head and he groans. _God_, he needs coffee. 

“’S alright,” he mumbles to Cas as he reluctantly forces himself to leave the warmth of the bed and its adorably sleep-tousled occupant. And, _fuck_, does Cas look good with his sexy bed-head, five o’clock shadow, and one half of his face still pink from where it was pressed against the pillow just a few minutes earlier. Not that Dean notices, since, you know, _FRIENDS._

“I can shower and eat at the station. I keep a duffle with toiletries and spare clothes there, just-in-case. You never know when you’re gonna need a shower mid-shift.”

Cas nods, “Like after you’ve just been covered in safety glass, because you stayed with an accident victim to keep him conscious while he was cut out of his crushed vehicle?”

Dean’s eyebrows lift and he suddenly feels more awake. “You remember that?”

Nodding again, Cas hesitates before replying, “I remember all of it Dean, thanks to you.” He smiles softly, “You refused to leave me.”

“Well, yeah, of course I did,” Dean replies gruffly, uncomfortable with the praise and the adoring look in Cas’ eyes. “You were in shock, man. You were moments away from going under and I had no way of knowing the full extent of your injuries. I couldn’t just _leave you there_, Cas.”

“I know,” Cas agrees, “And I’m glad you didn’t. You were right. If you’d left me for even a moment, you would have been pulling my unconscious body out of that SUV.” After a moment, he adds, “I almost lost consciousness anyway. I could feel myself drifting away. If you hadn’t...”

He trails off, staring at Dean, and Dean swallows. _Shit_. Cas really does remember everything. He can feel his face burning, but he can’t look away from Cas’ intense blue gaze.

“You told me to stay with you,” he finally finishes, “so I stayed.”

Dean can’t move. The urge to climb back onto the bed and kiss his best friend breathless is almost overpowering, but he manages to hold his ground.

Cas opens his mouth again, apparently not finished with his attempt to shred the last fibers of Dean’s resolve, “Thank you, Dean. For staying with me.”

Dean blinks.

“Of course, Cas,” he manages in a hoarse whisper. “I always will.”

Clearing his throat, he aims for a cocky bravado he doesn’t feel in desperate attempt to diffuse the suddenly charged atmosphere, “I’m like a stray cat. You’ve fed me and you let me sleep in your bed. There’s no getting rid of me now.”

“I hope that’s true,” Cas says quietly. His lips quirk up in a small smile, but there’s a sadness in his eyes that haunts Dean through his overnight shift.

* * *

** _Monday, October 22, 2018_ **

Castiel smiles down at his smartphone, his finger tracing gently over the photo message Dean just sent him. It’s a picture of a smiling Dean holding Claire, her face smeared liberally with chocolate ice cream, both hands clutching a dripping ice cream cone as she beams at the camera. His chest fills with warmth as he looks at this captured moment of bliss: Dean’s face filled with amusement and contentment and Claire’s the absolute embodiment of child-like joy. He sets it as his home screen before texting Dean back.

Today, 4:17 PM

You SENT:

Looks like she’s enjoying the ice cream.

Dean’s response is instant.

Today, 4:18 PM

Dean Winchester SENT:

She is her father’s daughter. 😜

How’s your appt going?

Sighing, Castiel looks around the small, but well-maintained waiting room. Plush, comfortable-looking chairs are arranged in singles or pairs, with homey-looking end tables separating them, giving at least the illusion of space and privacy. Each end table is home to a small pile of magazines and a table lamp, the soft glow of incandescent light replacing the harsh fluorescents overhead, which are kept off. The scent of vanilla permeates the air and the overall effect makes the space feel more like someone’s living room than an office waiting room, which Castiel supposes is the point. Patients who feel comfortable and at ease are probably more likely to be open and honest with their therapist.

Today, 4:20 PM

You SENT:

Still waiting.

I wish I had some of that ice cream. Do all therapists’ offices smell like dessert?

Today, 4:21 PM

Dean Winchester SENT:

Missouri does like her scented candles. She’s good people though.

Castiel’s general practitioner had recommended he see a therapist after Castiel had reported his panic attacks and occasional feelings of depression upon leaving the hospital. The recommendation for Missouri Mosely, however, had come from Dean. She was one of the therapists he’d seen following the tragic fire that had taken his mother and Dean said she’d really helped him. 

This is Castiel’s third appointment with Missouri and although he’d been reticent about seeing a therapist, he has to admit that he’s growing to like the no-nonsense counselor. She’s kind and understanding without being placating or pitying and she’s direct in a way that Castiel needs. She never lets him deflect from his discomfort with his trademark sarcasm or snark. 

Castiel smirks. He can see why she worked well with Dean.

His first appointment had felt awkward and incredibly uncomfortable at times, especially the “patient history” part of the discussion. Castiel had prepared himself to talk about the accident. He had definitely _not _been prepared to answer questions about his childhood, his relationship with his family, and even his past romantic relationships. Looking back, he supposes it makes sense that a counselor would want to know about anything that could be affecting their patient’s mental health, past or present, the same way he had to record the appendectomy he had when he was eight on the patient history form for his in-home physical therapy. On the other hand, writing down the name and date of his childhood surgery, unrelated though it may seem, didn’t require him to reveal any of the personal details surrounding the event. His medical doctors and physical therapists didn’t care that it was Gabriel, not his mother, who cared for him during his recovery from that surgery, because Naomi had a charity event she didn’t want to miss. That sounded like exactly the kind of intimate and uncomfortable detail Missouri would be interested in, not that she had gotten many details out of him.

Castiel had kept each answer as short and perfunctory as he could make them, and yet it felt like Missouri had read novels in each begrudging sentence. The most difficult question to answer though, had come after Castiel was already feeling raw and drained from revealing far more in one sitting about his less than ideal childhood than he ever had before. 

_“Have you experienced domestic violence or physical abuse in any of your previous relationships?”_

_“No,” he’d answered easily, with a firm shake of his head. Missouri nodded and made a brief notation in her notebook._

_“Have you experienced mental or emotional abuse in any of your previous relationships?” she asked in the same neutral tone._

_He opened his mouth to answer, “no” again, but the word stuck in his throat. Lodged there. _

_Missouri’s brown eyes held his patiently, warm and anchoring, as Castiel floundered wordlessly._

_Seconds passed. Maybe minutes. Possibly hours._

_“Yes,” is what had finally made it out._

During that appendectomy, surgeons cut him open and took something out of him. Why does it feel like therapy is going to be a very similar experience? 

He continues to message with Dean while he waits, grinning as he shows Gabriel the picture Dean sends him a few minutes later, of a clearly laughing Claire caught mid-swing in the baby swing at the park next to their favorite ice cream shop. He’s just sent a response back to Dean, pouting about how he wishes he could be at the park with them, when Missouri appears in the waiting room doorway.

“Castiel? I’m ready when you are, Sugar.”

Dropping his phone to his lap and nodding to his brother, Castiel wheels himself down the short hallway after Missouri, carefully steering himself through the doorway that’s just wide enough to accommodate his wheelchair, into her small office. Missouri has thoughtfully moved the large plush chair where her patients usually sit to the side, making plenty of space for Castiel to position his wheelchair next to it and transfer over to the armchair. At their first meeting, Missouri had asked Castiel if he’d prefer to remain in his chair or to sit in the comfortable-looking armchair. At the time, he’d declined her offer, embarrassed about having to transfer between the two chairs, but by the end of the session he was fidgeting in his wheelchair, obviously uncomfortable. At Missouri’s arched eyebrow, he’d sheepishly admitted that sitting in his wheelchair for long periods of time made him sore. 

The next time he visited, Missouri had moved the armchair over, making sure to place it next to a small end table. The end table held a waiting cup of coffee and small plate of cookies, which would only be within Castiel’s reach if he sat in the chair. Missouri hadn’t said a word, making herself comfortable in her own chair, seemingly ignoring her patient as she helped herself to a cookie.

Castiel could have chosen to leave the cookies and coffee as they were and stubbornly remain in his chair. He was certain Missouri wouldn’t have even commented on it. However, it would have felt incredibly rude to snub the counselor’s hospitality like that, especially since those cookies looked homemade. Shaking his head and silently admitting defeat, Castiel had parked his wheelchair and pivoted over to the comfier seat. 

Today, he doesn’t hesitate before making himself at home in the cozy armchair, which is definitely more comfortable than his wheelchair. He picks up his coffee and takes a sip before biting into a cookie, surprised and happy that Missouri seems to have made this a regular thing for their sessions. He sighs and feels some of the tension from his shoulders dissipate as he inhales the aromas of freshly brewed coffee and oatmeal raisin, waiting quietly for Missouri to start their session.

“So, Castiel,” she begins, “how was the car ride here?”

“Better,” he acknowledges. “I still flinched a few times when other cars passed us and I was still nervous when we had to make a left turn, but I tried to do what you said, reframing the negative thoughts and focusing on the reality of the situation.”

At Missouri’s encouraging nod, he continues, “I reminded myself that the cars were staying in their own lanes, that Gabriel is a good driver, that there was plenty of time for him to make the turn before the oncoming traffic reached us.”

“That’s good,” Missouri praises, “I know it feels awkward and laborious right now, but with time those thoughts will come with less effort and will feel more natural, until eventually it won’t be a conscious process at all.”

Castiel nods, somewhat skeptically. He knows she’s right, but thinking about how much _time_ it’s going to take before his heart doesn’t race at every intersection is still frustrating. 

“How about bonding with Claire? You said before that you felt disconnected from your daughter. How are you feeling now?”

“I still don’t feel like our bond is as strong as it was before the accident,” Castiel admits, “but it’s getting better. I’ve been doing as much as I can to participate in her care and I spend some one-on-one time with her every evening before bed, like you suggested.”

Castiel looks down at his hands, clasped in his lap, “It’s still hard though, seeing her reach for Gabe sometimes, especially when I’m holding her.”

“Does Claire forming bonds with other caregivers weaken her bond with you?” Missouri’s tone is non-judgmental, but one eyebrow is quirked upward and Castiel knows what she’s getting at.

“No. Logically, I know that it’s good for Claire to be developing relationships with other people. It’s what I wanted when I moved here: for us to have a support network, a family. It’s still hard though.”

Missouri looks to be thinking through her response to that when Castiel’s phone buzzes against his leg. His fingers twitch toward it instinctively before he stills them, but of course, Missouri’s already noticed. Castiel has the distinct impression that there isn’t much of anything that Missouri _doesn’t_ notice.

“Important message or Pavlovian response?” Missouri asks, a playful glint in her eye.

Castiel chuckles.

“A little of both,” he answers, before explaining, “It’s Dean. He picked Claire up from daycare and is watching her until Gabe and I get home.”

The therapist nods, “You’ve mentioned that Dean picks her up from daycare frequently, correct?”

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, “but this is the first time he’s actually watched her on his own for any length of time.”

“And how do you feel about that?”

“Good,” Castiel answers quickly, “Claire loves Dean.”

Missouri waits.

Castiel fidgets.

Missouri raises an eyebrow.

Castiel sighs, “Good, but nervous.”

“Hmm,” Missouri murmurs, “Why do you think that is?”

“Claire loves Dean.”

“So you said.”

“It’s just... babies are a lot of work. Dean’s done so much for us already. What if it’s too much?”

“Has Dean said it’s too much?”

“No, but in my experience, people usually don’t until it’s too late.” Castiel sighs again and glances at his phone.

“Maybe you should check your message,” Missouri prompts.

Castiel picks up his phone and opens the newest message from Dean. He can’t help the soft smile that overtakes his face as he looks at the picture of Claire buckled into her car seat, sound asleep and still covered in faint traces of chocolate ice cream. He shows the picture to Missouri, who smiles warmly.

“Doesn’t look like it’s too much to me.”

“Maybe,” Castiel pauses, “but...”

“But what, Castiel?” Missouri asks softly.

“What if he leaves?” Castiel whispers.

“What if he doesn’t?”

They move on to other topics, but Missouri’s words stay with Castiel long after their session is finished, replaying in his mind even as he lies in bed that night, waiting for sleep to claim him.

_What if he doesn’t?_

** **

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: physical pain, Cas starts therapy, BRIEF allusions to past emotionally abusive relationships.
> 
> Well there we go! Another chapter. I hope you enjoyed this installment of "these guys who won't just bone already!" Speaking of which, did Steve Carell get hot or what? Any other thoughts on who Cas' "silver fox" role model could be?
> 
> Next week: It's almost Thanksgiving here, but our boys will be celebrating Halloween! See you then!


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Let's see what the crew are doing for Halloween, eh? From Wonderland to Hogwarts, what's not to love?
> 
> Fuck, I hate summaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, all you wonderful readers! Thank you, thank you, THANK YOU for all of your incredible comments on the last chapter. I cannot begin to express to you how thrilling and yet, humbling it is to know that so many of you are finding joy, laughter, and comfort in this story, as it (and you) have brought all of the same to me. I am simply blown away each and every week!
> 
> I do want to make sure I point out, though, that I've added a couple of tags since last week. I know this story was already tagged for angst, but I decided to add the "heavy angst" tag, as well as the "angst with a happy ending" tag. It may also be helpful to let you know that we're only halfway through this fic, friends, so there is a lot story still to come.
> 
> I'm also going to thank again my dear beta, EllenofOz, who is a phenomenal editor, cheerleader, human, and friend. Side note: no characters, readers, or betas were harmed in the making of this chapter. The only angst herein is remembered angst. I don't want to make anyone ugly cry at work, so if there is going to be something particularly angsty in a chapter, I will try to post warnings in the end notes. That being said, there are no warnings for this chapter, but there IS a link to my picture inspiration boards for the crew's Halloween costumes in the end notes, so be sure to check that out! 
> 
> And now, finally, enjoy this fluffy Halloween treat!

** _Wednesday, October 31, 2018_ **

Dean had only been joking about the Tweedle Dee and Tweedle Dum costumes, but the Wonderland idea had stuck. Claire looks adorable in her blue and white Alice dress, although it becomes quickly apparent that there is no way she’s leaving the headband in. Cas manages to snap one picture with it on before a shrieking Claire rips it off and throws it on the floor. Any attempts to put it back are met with immediate pterodactyl screeching and are therefore quickly abandoned.

Dean chuckles at the look of consternation on Cas’ face before shifting his gaze around the Milton apartment, taking stock of everyone’s costumes. 

On the other side of the living room, Jess is tying a large, pale blue ribbon around Sam’s neck in a loose bow over top the mustard yellow button-down that clashes horrendously with the maroon skinny jeans he’s sporting. 

Dean snickers. Sam looks utterly ridiculous, but Jess actually manages to pull off the canary sweater, red skirt, and cornflower scarf that make her the much more attractive Tweedle Dee to Sam’s aptly named Tweedle Dum. 

“Lookin’ good there, Sammy,” he calls with a grin. Sam shoots him Bitchface No. 9 (a personal favorite) and begins to raise his middle finger in Dean’s direction before it’s smacked away by Jess.

“Not in front of the baby!”

Dean’s grin widens at the now two-parts sheepish, one-part sulky expression on his little brother’s face. His grin morphs into a scowl, however, when Gabe bounces into the room, pulling on a long suede jacket over a waistcoat in blue plaid. An oversized bow tie and brown, paisley-patterned top hat adorned with clock faces, a peacock feather, and a pair of old-fashioned metal goggles, in addition to the obligatory playing cards, cap off his steampunk inspired Mad Hatter costume. 

“Oh, please. Like the little tike hasn’t seen and heard far worse from the elder and less attractive Winchester over there,” he quips before bounding back into the bathroom to check his costume in the mirror for the 627th time. After they finish trick-or-treating, Gabe’s headed to a Halloween party with Kali, a new woman he’s recently started seeing. This is their fifth or sixth date, Dean thinks, and Gabe is clearly smitten with his, “Indian goddess,” as he describes her. Dean’s about to mock him for his obvious nerves when Jess turns to him, hands on her hips.

“Dean Henry Winchester! You should be setting an example for Claire.”

“He is!” Charlie chimes in, oh-so-helpfully, “an example of what _not_ to do.” She glides over regally from her previous seat on the arm of Cas’ couch. Like Gabe, Charlie has another engagement following their Halloween outing, a costume party with her new, almost-girlfriend Gilda, which explains her elaborate costume. Despite her petite frame, she makes an impressive and intimidating Red Queen of Hearts. With blood red lips that match her fiery hair and black and red gown, a dark cobalt eyeshadow coating her lids, and the symbols for the four card suits trailing down her face like red and black tears, she’s both beautiful and frightening. Most frightening of all, Dean thinks, was the look of enraged rapture on her face when she screamed, “OFF WITH THEIR HEADS!” as he opened the apartment door earlier this evening.

“Hey,” Dean protests, “I’m not that bad.”

Cas lets out an inelegant snort behind him, “Not that bad? It’s even money whether Claire’s first full sentence is going to be, ‘Son of a bitch,’ or ‘What the hell?’”

Dean glares at his best friend.

Cas smirks, “And Henry, hmm? I’ll have to remember that for future use.”

“No fair,” Dean pouts, “I don’t know your middle name!”

“And I’m not telling you,” Cas grins.

“It’s James!” Gabe’s voice calls from the bathroom.

It’s Dean’s turn to smirk. His smirk widens in delight as Cas sticks out his tongue.

“Now who’s the bad example?”

Dean picks up Claire’s jacket from the end table and passes it to Cas, who has, “Alice,” in his lap. It always seems like such a waste to get kids all dressed up in their cute little Halloween costumes just to cover them with coats and hats, but Kansas evenings get chilly this far into Fall. Claire, unfortunately, seems to share Dean’s sentiment and is currently writhing in her father’s arms as he attempts to force her pudgy arms into the jacket sleeves. It’s clear from his pained expression that her bouncing around on his still-healing incisions is less than comfortable. 

Cas winces as one chubby hand flails upward, hitting him in the face. “I swear child, you have octopus arms. There _can’t _be only two of them,” he grumbles as he finally wrangles both appendages into sleeves and quickly zips up the jacket.

Chuckling, Dean leans down and scoops up the flailing almost-toddler.

“C’mere, Cthulu,” he says affectionately, nuzzling his nose against Claire’s, who giggles before pulling back and trying to reach into Dean’s mouth with her tiny toddler hands. 

“Nom, nom, nom,” Dean growls while pretending to chomp down on Claire’s fingers. The baby squeals in delight at the game, reaching toward Dean’s mouth only to shriek and pull her hand back each time as Dean chomps at her.

He glances up at Cas, always trying to be sensitive to how others giving and receiving affection from Claire might make his friend feel, but has to quickly look away again, a blush infusing his face at the soft, open expression on Cas’ features. A warmth that Dean chooses not to name spreads through his chest at the knowledge that his bond with Claire seems to bring his friend joy and comfort, instead of the jealousy Dean feared.

As Dean struggles to control his still-heated face, Claire reaches up and discovers the fuzzy gray cat ears on top of his head. She pets them gently, as if Dean were a real kitty, and he grins widely, which is fitting, considering he’s dressed as the Cheshire Cat. A pale pink button down, deep purple tweed sportscoat, and pink and purple striped tie complete the ensemble. It’s a little too elaborate (and _way _to expensive) a costume for trick-or-treating with a ten-month-old and unlike Gabe and Charlie, Dean has no plans following their excursion to justify it, but whatever. Dean looks good and a man can totally want to dress up and look good just because he wants to and for _absolutely no other reason at all, Sam._

His only consolation (and it’s a hell of a consolation), is that Cas is equally overdressed in his own purple jacket, which he’s wearing with a purple paisley bow tie and tan waistcoat, an elaborate exposed-gear pocket watch dangling from a button hole. With Claire still occupied with the fuzzy ears, Dean sneaks a peak at his friend. Seeing that Cas’ attention is now focused on putting on his shoes, he lets his gaze linger. Without his permission, a small, proud smile finds its way to his face as he watches Cas pull at his left pant leg, hauling his left foot on top of his right knee. He still can’t lift his legs more than a few inches off the ground on their own, but up until recently, Cas couldn’t even accomplish this much. His left side took the brunt of the impact during his accident and getting it back into working condition has been difficult. Until last week, Cas didn’t have the flexibility to even get his left foot up this high and having to have someone else put on his shoe for him was a real sore point for Dean’s fiercely independent friend. Dean knows that Cas’ physical therapist, a kind but tough dude named Cesar, comes three times a week. He sees an OT weekly as well, whom Dean hasn’t met yet, but it’s clear their visits are paying off. Cas can’t always see it, but he’s come so far in such a short amount of time and fuck, is Dean proud of him.

Shoes tied, Cas reaches to the end table next to him for the last two pieces of his costume. Dean’s Cheshire Cat grin returns in full force as Cas puts on a pair of gold, wire-rimmed glasses and his own fluffy set of ears, identifying him as Wonderland’s White Rabbit. Dean feels his heart turn over in his chest when the rabbit-in-question looks up at him. Cas somehow looks both ridiculously adorable and unbelievably hot at the same time and it’s confusing both Dean’s head and his libido. 

Realizing they’ve now been staring at each other for several silent seconds, Dean clears his throat and nods to Cas, “Nice ears.”

“I would say the same to you, but it appears that Claire’s claimed yours,” Cas returns with a grin, nodding to Claire, who has in fact pulled Dean’s cat-ears off his head without his realizing and is now rubbing one between her thumb and forefinger as she sucks her thumb and leans her head against Dean’s shoulder.

Dean chuckles softly and kisses the blonde curls nestled against his cheek.

“I wonder if we’ll even make it halfway through trick-or-treating before she conks out.”

“Probably not, but that was a risk I knew we’d take with trick-or-treat starting around the same time as her bedtime. I’ll just be happy if we make it through without a meltdown.”

“Aww, well don’t you two make a cute couple,” Charlie coos, breaking off from her conversation with Sam and Jess to stand between Dean and Cas.

Dean’s gaze darts between Cas and Charlie for a panicked second (_Was I that obvious? Pull it together, Winchester!)_, before he blurts, “We’re not a couple!”

Charlie snickers and Cas bites his lip and seems to be fighting back his own laugh, despite turning bright red.

“I meant you and the _baby_, Dean-O,” Charlie says gleefully, “but if there’s something else you wanna tell me...” she trails off and holds her hands up placatingly at Dean’s glare.

In a completely obvious and ineffective attempt to salvage the remains of his dignity, Dean turns toward the rest of the room and says gruffly, “Alright people, Alice is fading fast here, time to get this show on the road!”

Cas wheels up next to him and opens his mouth to speak, but Dean cuts him off with a, “Shuddup.”

Chuckling and nodding to Claire, Cas says, “I was only going to ask if you want me to take her.”

“Oh uh, sure, I suppose,” Dean says reluctantly, reminding himself that this _is_ actually Cas’ baby he’s holding. He probably shouldn’t be monopolizing her, especially considering this is her first Halloween and all. 

He begins to shift Claire in order to pass her back to her father, but her little fingers curl into his shirt, gripping tight.

“It’s okay, Dean,” Cas says softly, face radiating affection as he takes in the scene, “You can carry her if you want to.”

“Are you sure?” Dean asks hesitantly. 

“Of course,” Cas answers easily, “Honestly, it might be better if you do. That way I can push myself instead of holding her and having someone else push us.”

Dean nods, understanding how hard it is for Cas to let people push him when he can do it himself. His friend is so stubborn in his independence. Cas hasn’t had anyone to take care of him for such a long time that he doesn’t even seem to know how to go about it now that he does. Dean feels both proud of his friend’s determination and saddened at the reason for it. It’s a confusing way to feel. To be honest, most of how he feels about the wild-haired man in front of him is confusing to Dean. Confusing, frustrating, terrifying, exhilarating. Dean shakes his head. _Focus, Winchester._

“Alright, then. Lead the way to Wonderland, White Rabbit. I believe you’re late for a very important date,” Dean said, bouncing the baby in his arms.

Grinning, Cas does just that, leading the group out of the apartment and toward the elevator.

* * *

Hearing his daughter squeal with joy, Castiel looks up from the caramel apple pie he’d been admiring.

Castiel’s apartment complex isn’t home to very many children, making it less than optimal for Trick-or-Treating, so their motley crew had instead headed to a local elementary school, which is hosting a combination _Trunk_-or-Treat and Halloween carnival. Several yards away, Dean is occupying Claire as Castiel and the other grown-ups check out the vendor section of the carnival. While he and Gabriel peruse the baked goods (Gabriel with far too critical an eye for a PTA bake sale), Sam and Jess are admiring a stand full of Fall decorations and seasonal wreaths, and Charlie is eyeing a display of homemade, “magic wands,” that is clearly trying (quite successfully, if the number of wand-toting-children surrounding them is any indication) to profit from the popularity of the Harry Potter franchise. 

He smiles as he watches Dean toss Claire bodily into the air, catching her and swinging her around as she comes back down, before settling her on his shoulders, piggy-back style. Aside from setting her down and holding her hands so she could toddle up to the parked cars for her trunk-or-treating, Dean’s carried Claire the entire evening, much to her (and Castiel’s if he were to admit it, which he’s _not_) delight. Castiel tells himself it’s seeing his ten-month-old flying through the air that has his heartrate picking up speed, but the butterflies doing barrel-rolls in his stomach call him a liar.

“You two _do_ make a cute couple, you know,” Charlie says, red-painted lips smirking at him from where she’s sidled up to his wheelchair, completely unnoticed, as Castiel watched his friend and his daughter enjoying one another. 

He sighs, “You know Dean and I are not a couple, Charlie.”

“Well, I think that’s debatable, but even if you’re _not_, you still A) could be and B) are cute together,” his red-headed friend insists.

At that moment, Charlie’s phone pings with an incoming text message (of course, she’s managed to find a ball gown that has _pockets_, because she’s Charlie) and her face lights up as she checks it.

“Speaking of cute couples, would that be the lovely and thus far, mysterious, Lady Gilda?” Castiel asks, arching an eyebrow at Charlie’s answering blush.

“’Tis,” she answers primly, before adopting a wolfish grin, “She’s just telling me about her costume for the party tonight.”

“You said the party theme is, ‘Famous Villains,” correct?” At Charlie’s nod, he asks, “Which one did she choose?”

“Well, since I’m going as the Queen of Hearts, we decided we’d both be villainous queens from classic children’s literature. She’s going as the White Witch from _The Lion, the Witch, and the Wardrobe.”_

“Well, as an English teacher, I most definitely approve. When do I get to meet this woman who already has you coordinating costume themes?”

Charlie blushes again, but Castiel feels his own cheeks warm when he hears her grumble under her breath, “Yeah, cause you and Dean are definitely both dressed to the nines for _Claire’s _benefit.”

Knowing that her comment hit its mark, Charlie smiles sweetly, “You can meet her soon. We’ll set something up. Maybe we could even go on a double date!” She laughs, easily trotting out of reach as Castiel swats at her. 

Noticing the end of he and Charlie’s exchange, Dean catches his eye and raises a questioning eyebrow. Castiel shakes his head and waves him off, before picking up the caramel apple pie and paying the smiling PTA mom behind the table. It may not be as good as Gabriel’s, but it’ll still be a nice treat for later. Besides, he knows how just much Dean enjoys pie. 

* * *

“Mmmmmfph. Oh ma gawd, Cas,” Dean moans around his fork and Castiel swallows.

Apparently, he _didn’t _know just how much Dean enjoys pie. He’s not sure if the man just undersold his previous pie reactions or if he’s deliberately playing up his response to the dessert tonight, but Castiel doesn’t remember Dean’s pie-induced moans sounding this... erotic before. 

Arching an eyebrow and conducting a desperate mental search for his suddenly misplaced composure, he manages to joke, “Gabriel’s going to be jealous. I don’t think his pie got even half this level of enthusiasm.” If his voice sounds a little strangled, well, hopefully Dean won’t notice.

In fact, Dean appears to be too busy blushing a deep and lovely shade of pink to notice Castiel’s total lack of, “cool.” Or is it, “chill,” these days? He suddenly misses his high schoolers. 

All thoughts of his students are chased from his mind just a moment later, however, as he watches Dean swallow his mouthful of pie, Adam’s apple bobbing and pink tongue slipping out to trace over full, kissable lips. 

_Kissable?_ _Get a grip, Milton,_ Castiel chides himself.

For the first month after his accident, Castiel’s sex drive had been all but absent. After all, it’s difficult to maintain arousal when every tiny movement causes shooting pains in the area surrounding said arousal. Over the past few weeks, however, his libido has been slowly making a reappearance. That’s probably all this is. It’s just been a very long time since Castiel has experienced physical desire and with his very attractive friend moaning like a porn star across from him, of course his thoughts are going to stray in that direction. It will pass. It doesn’t mean that he _actually_ wants to kiss his best friend, or scrape his teeth over that Adam’s apple, or find out if Dean has as many freckles on the rest of his body as he does across the bridge of his nose.

Castiel groans at himself internally. He’d thought his crush on Dean had been getting better. He’d gotten past his initial shock at just how damn gorgeous the man is, and they’d managed to develop a deep and meaningful friendship. In fact, it’s one of the most meaningful and rewarding relationships in Castiel’s life and he’s loathe to do anything that might eventually result in the loss of such a profound bond. It’s just not worth the risk, no matter how delicious Dean looks with his cheeks tinged pink.

Apparently, what he thought was him getting over his attraction to Dean was just him being able to suppress it more easily, without such heavy doses of pain killers lowering his inhibitions. Now though, the return of his sex drive and his growing feelings for Dean are overriding that suppression just as effectively as the oxycodone did.

_He would probably taste like caramel, _a voice argues in Castiel’s head. 

Not. Helpful.

“Oh, uh, I may have been holding back a bit, before,” Dean stammers out sheepishly and it’s so endearing that Castiel’s lust is almost overrun by the sudden wave of affection that crashes over him.

_Yes, this is just about your recovering libido... a purely physical response..._ mocks the increasingly annoying voice in his head. 

Castiel isn’t sure how long they’ve been sitting there, just staring at one another (When did Dean get so close?), when they both startle at Gabriel’s voice.

“Alright, kiddies, I’m out of here! Don’t do anything I wouldn’t do!”

Seeing them seated side-by-side on the small sofa, he adds, “And if you do anything I _would_ do, please go do it in the bedroom and not where I’ll be sleeping!”

“Good night, Gabriel,” Castiel growls pointedly as he fights down a blush.

Gabriel waggles his eyebrows at Castiel, before turning and pointing at Dean with a suddenly serious expression.

“Remember my last, Petunia,” he bellows as he waltzes backwards down the hallway.

“Dude, did you just quote Dumbledore at me?” Dean asks with a shake of his head.

“You’ve read _Harry Potter?” _he asks Dean with a grin as Gabriel dons his suede jacket from earlier.

“Charlie,” Dean explains in a single word. 

“Can’t go wrong quoting the greatest headmaster Hogwarts ever had, Dean-O!” calls Gabriel cheerfully as he flounces out the apartment door.

Waiting until the door closes behind his brother, Castiel levels Dean with a serious expression, “Want to tell me what that was about?”

“Nope,” Dean answers easily, taking another bite of his pie.

Waiting, Castiel arches an eyebrow, giving Dean the same expectant look that never fails to have fifteen-year-old high school students spilling their guts within thirty seconds flat.

Apparently, it’s just as effective with thirty-year-old firefighters.

With a sigh, Dean explains, “It was just something Gabe said to me back in the hospital, when you were in surgery.”

“Which was?”

“He just wanted to make sure I was serious about sticking around if I wanted to be your friend. Said you’d been walked out on enough. I’m guessing he was talking about Captain Douchebag,” Dean answers, using his favorite nickname for Castiel’s ex.

He sighs, “Partially. Gabriel also likes to take responsibility for things that were not actually within his ability to control.”

“Big brother’s prerogative,” Dean answers sagely.

Castiel hums his agreement, but doesn’t elaborate further. Dean doesn’t push, and in the end, that’s what leads Castiel to explain.

“As you know, Gabriel and I grew up in a very strict household. I’ve never actually met my biological father. He walked out on my mother when I was just a few months old. She’s always described him as a dreamer. He was an aspiring author with his head in the clouds and according to Naomi, he felt being ‘tied down’ with a wife and two children was stifling his creativity. She married Zachariah when I was four and Gabriel ten. He’s a staunch traditionalist when it comes to... well, pretty much everything and after Chuck, I think she found that kind of stability comforting.”

“I guess I can see that,” Dean nods.

“Yes,” Castiel agrees, before chuckling drily, “Unfortunately, as I’m sure is obvious, there is nothing, ‘traditional’ about my brother. Gabriel was constantly at odds with Zachariah and Naomi the entire time we were growing up. Things came to a head when he was about to graduate college. He’d gone along with Zachariah’s insistence that he major in business, but while Zachariah was imagining Gabriel taking a hand-picked position within one of his or his associate’s organizations, Gabriel was secretly planning his bakery.”

Dean whistles, “I’m imagining that didn’t go over so well with the ‘rents when they found out.”

“Indeed,” Castiel agrees, “It was the biggest argument I can remember them having, and it ended with Gabriel packing his bags and leaving. I didn’t see him again for three years after that, not until I was in college and also estranged from our parents.”

* * *

Dean feels a sharp twinge in his chest as his heart breaks for his friend. Is there anyone in Cas’ life who _hasn’t _left him? His biological father, his brother, his mother and stepfather, and the man he thought he was going to share a life and fatherhood with. Even that prick Balthazar, his first lover and supposed friend, left him without a backwards glance to go back to his life overseas.

It’s no wonder Cas doesn’t know how to let people take care of him. No one’s ever even tried before. It takes all of Dean’s willpower not to gather Cas into his arms right then, but he knows his friend’s pride wouldn’t appreciate that right now.

Instead, he listens, heart aching behind his ribs, as Cas continues, “Gabriel still feels guilty over leaving me there, though at the time, he had no way of knowing what was going to happen my senior year. He had no idea I was gay. I’d never told anyone. At the time, he thought he was the only black sheep of the family and that with him gone, my life there would be easier.”

“He still left though,” Dean says quietly.

“He had no choice, Dean,” Castiel defends heatedly, “Living in that house was the polar opposite of everything that makes Gabriel... Gabriel. If he’d stayed, if he’d gone along with their plans for him, it would have destroyed him.”

“I get that,” Dean assures quickly, “and I’m not blaming him for leaving. I’m just saying I get why he feels responsible.”

When Cas still doesn’t look convinced, Dean takes a deep breath and says, “I told you that after my mom... after the fire, my dad was in a bad way. What I didn’t tell you was that he could be one hell of a mean bastard, especially when he was drunk, which was all the goddamn time.” Even after all this time, he still can’t keep the bitterness out of his voice.

Not meeting Cas’ eyes, he trudges on, “I thought about leaving sometimes. Would have been better for me if I had, maybe. But I couldn’t leave Sam there. He and Dad, they were like oil and water. I was the only one that could ever seem to get through to both of them. As bad as it was for me, it would have been ten times worse for Sam if I wasn’t there to be a buffer. That’s why I stayed, but if I hadn’t known that, I might have left and if I had left, thinking Sam would be okay and then he wasn’t... Damn straight I’d still feel like shit about that. I don’t care how many years it’s been.”

Cas opens his mouth to argue, but Dean cuts him off, “Like I said, big brother’s prerogative.”

Cas is quiet for a long moment, mulling that over and gazing at Dean with an expression Dean’s pretty sure he doesn’t deserve. Thankfully, it turns into a playful smirk when Dean takes another bite of pie.

“What?” he asks Cas around a mouthful of apple.

“Just trying to decide if you’re more Gryffindor or Hufflepuff,” Cas answers with a grin.

Dean rolls his eyes, “Duh, firefighter. Gryffindor.”

Cas’ smirk widens, “Hmm, definitely Hufflepuff.”

“Excuse me?” Dean says in mock-offense. “How do you figure?”

Amused smirk broadening into a gummy grin, Cas gestures to Dean’s now empty plate and answers, “Because no one can like pie _that_ much and _not_ be a Puff.”

Before Dean can open his mouth to argue, the adorable dork continues, ticking off each argument on his fingers, “Plus, you’re kind, unbelievably compassionate, generous, loyal almost to a fault...” Pausing a moment for emphasis, he finishes, “and a _truly_ devoted and caring friend.”

Blushing down to his goddamn toes, Dean clears his throat, “I don’t know about all of that, but I do like pie.”

As Cas rolls his eyes affectionately, Dean deflects further, “So what are you?”

“Ravenclaw, obviously,” comes the immediate response. 

“You’re right,” Dean agrees, “You’re _obviously_ a smartass.” 

Raising an arm to block the pillow Cas swats him with, Dean huffs a laugh, “A pillow fight? That’s your big comeback? Where’s that acclaimed Ravenclaw wit, huh?”

As Cas oh-so-maturely sticks out his tongue at him, Dean shakes his head in bemusement, thinking about what all of those idiots who’ve abandoned and rejected his friend are missing out on. They’ve only been friends for a few months and already, Dean can’t imagine his life without Cas in it. Doesn’t even want to.

He waits a moment for his inner monologue to pipe up and remind him that he shouldn’t be thinking things like that about someone who’s _just a friend_, but it keeps quiet. Looks like for once, Dean’s head and heart are in full agreement. 

Who could ever leave Cas? 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you enjoyed everyone's costumes! Picking out who would be who was such fun! As promised, you can check out the visuals I used for costume inspiration [here](https://a-mandala-rose.tumblr.com/post/189234955514/halloween-costume-inspiration-for-stay-with-me).
> 
> I hope those of you in the States have a very Happy Thanksgiving next week filled with far too much turkey and pie. Those of you who aren't celebrating American Thanksgiving next week, enjoy some pie next Thursday anyway, in honor of Dean. My husband has a dairy allergy and my parents are on the keto diet (or, as my mother calls it, the "key-toe" diet" 🤣). Been trying to decide what we can have for Thanksgiving dinner and so far, we're having turkey and gravy. 😑  
Tell me, what's your favorite Thanksgiving (or holidays-in-general) food? Also, will anyone be braving the Black Friday crowds next week or will you, like me, be shopping online in your pajamas?
> 
> Next week: Hey look, the bed is back!! I do love that memory foam!


	13. Chapter 13

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas finds himself in need of assistance. Dean offers to give him a hand.
> 
> And yes, for once it's _exactly_ what you're thinking.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends and a very happy Thanksgiving to all who are celebrating! I've finished my Thanksgiving dinner, (which was much tastier than expected since my mom caved on the key-toe, for which I am very thankful 😂) and I'm spending my time between turkey and pie by posting a day early for you lovely people!
> 
> I know holidays can be stressful, so if you've had to put up with grandma asking AGAIN when you're going to find a nice boy/girl to settle down with, if Great-aunt Ethel helpfully asked in front of the entire table if you're, "sure you want that second helping of mashed potatoes, dear," if cousin Chad spent the entire dinner droning on about the finer points of his totally rad workout routine, or if Uncle Richard asked if you're "still gay," this chapter is for you. 
> 
> Be sure to check the end notes for warnings and oh, in case the chapter summary wasn't clear and if you're maybe, sort of interested in that kind of thing, this chapter is NSFW.
> 
> Happy Smutsgiving, everyone!

** _Tuesday, November 13, 2018_ **

Castiel tips his head back and hums appreciatively as the warm water caresses his face before cascading over his shoulders and down his chest and back. He had his stitches removed at his ortho appointment yesterday, which means he no longer has to keep his laceration and incision sites dry during showers. It’s been two and a half months since Castiel has been able to enjoy a shower fully and the only thing that could make this one better would be if he could be standing for it.

Unfortunately, although he’s able to stand for up to ten minutes at a time now during his daily practice sessions, that’s a far cry from standing on the slippery shower floor, especially while washing himself. Instead, he sits on his shower chair, running soapy hands over his arms as he thinks idly about his day.

Dean’s off today, but he’s coming over to keep Castiel company, as he often does on his days off, no matter how many times Castiel assures him that he doesn’t have to. They’ll probably lie in Castiel’s bed and watch movies, which has become something of a habit for them over the past month, although it’s becoming increasingly difficult for Castiel to actually focus on the plot of whatever’s on-screen with Dean’s warmth pressed up against his side. That’s something else that’s happened over the past month. Initially, when Dean started joining him in bed for their TV watching, he stayed on the far side of the mattress, a no-man’s land of comforter and pillows between them. Over the past few weeks though, he’s migrated closer and closer to Castiel. This past Sunday found them connected from shoulder to hip as Dean showed him pictures on his phone from his latest outing with Claire during Castiel’s most recent counseling appointment with Missouri.

It’s the best kind of torture.

Watching television isn’t all he and Dean do, of course. They talk about anything and everything, read (Castiel is working his way through the many works of Vonnegut while he introduces Dean to some of his favorite YA authors), and occasionally play card games (Cards Against Humanity is a definite favorite, though they’ve played more traditional games as well). 

Sometimes, Dean even helps him with his physical therapy, although that too seems more... intense recently. Dean’s eyes on him while he completed his bridge exercises left Castiel red-faced from more than just exertion the last time. Interestingly enough, Dean’s face had seemed a little red too, as he watched Castiel slowly thrust his hips into the air again and again.

Castiel’s soapy hands trail lightly over his chest and abdomen, instinctively avoiding his still tender scars, as he pictures Dean’s slightly flushed face in his mind – the way his freckles stood out against his darkened cheeks and his tongue darted out to moisten dry lips. 

His hand drops lower, seemingly of its own accord, as Castiel remembers the heat he thought he must be imagining in Dean’s green eyes.

With a small groan of mingled lust and surprise, Castiel realizes he’s half-hard. He pauses, hand hovering loosely around his erection. Is he really doing this? Is he really touching himself to thoughts of Dean? Thoughts of one of his closest friends? 

He shouldn’t.

He really shouldn’t. Dean is his friend. This has to be some sort of violation, but...

But Castiel _wants._

And it’s been _so long_ since he’s wanted like this. 

Unable to stop himself, he moans quietly as his hand tightens and begins to stroke slowly along his rapidly hardening dick. 

He thinks about the rising tension he feels between himself and his best friend. He’s almost certain he’s not just imagining the longing looks and lingering touches they’ve been sharing. 

He imagines being back in bed with Dean, this time with both of them undressed and Castiel not injured, but whole and healthy. 

He positions himself overtop of Dean in his mind, thrusting into his friend while Dean comes undone beneath him, head thrown back and cupid’s bow lips shaped in an “o” of ecstasy as Castiel brings them both closer to completion.

Castiel moans again as his hand begins to pick up speed, only to grunt and hiss suddenly as his more energetic movements cause his arm to rub against the laceration along his ribs and pull at the still healing muscles of his abdomen.

He stops stroking himself in response to the discomfort and the sudden loss of much needed friction causes his hips to twitch involuntarily, sending shooting pains through his fractured pelvis. 

“Mmmph.” Castiel bites his forearm to muffle the shout of pain attempting to escape his lips, scrunching his eyes closed against the hurt. 

After taking a moment to gather himself, he opens his eyes and inhales shakily, before looking down sadly at his pitiful, wilting erection.

This isn’t the first time Castiel’s attempted and failed to masturbate since his accident, but it is the first time he’s thought of Dean while doing so and for some reason that makes it so much worse, especially when he recalls that he’s going to be seeing his friend in less than an hour.

So now, instead of getting to suffer through the embarrassment of facing his best friend after jerking off to thoughts of him in the shower, he gets to be _sexually frustrated_ while facing his best friend after trying and _failing_ to jerk off to thoughts of him in the shower.

So. Much. Worse.

His first “normal” shower in months effectively ruined, Castiel finds himself in an increasingly foul mood as he towels off and redresses.

* * *

“Cas? You alright, buddy?” 

Dean narrows his eyes in concern as he tries, for the third time, to get his friend’s attention.

“Hmm? Yes, I’m fine,” Cas answers shortly, fidgeting restlessly against his pillows. They’ve been sitting on Cas’ bed, ostensibly to watch TV, though neither of them have reached for the remote. Truthfully, Dean would just as soon talk to Cas as watch Netflix, but the bedroom TV gives him an excuse to be closer to his friend and Dean is far too weak a man to resist such a temptation. 

_You’ve reached new levels of pathetic, Winchester,_ taunts his inner monologue.

Dean doesn’t disagree.

Today though, something is clearly bothering his friend. Dean hates to pry, but Cas is acting so out of the norm, it’s actually got him worried. He’s been quiet and distant, sitting stiffly next to Dean in the bed, instead of relaxing against him the way he usually does. Cas is a pretty tactile guy and normally Dean’s touch seems to ground him, something Dean noticed the very first time they met at Cas’ accident scene. Right now though, Cas is almost flinching away from him every time their shoulders brush and he can’t help but wonder if he’s done something to offend or make him uncomfortable.

_Shit._ Does Cas know about Dean’s crush on him? Is that why he’s suddenly so uncomfortable? 

He’s been thinking more and more that maybe he isn’t in this alone, that maybe Cas is interested in him the same way he’s interested in Cas, but what if he’s got it all wrong? 

_Son of a bitch._ _No wonder Cas is freaking out! You’d be freaking out too if someone you weren’t attracted to were lying next to you, perving on you in your own goddamn bed!_

Dean’s gearing up into full-on panic mode when his years of therapy earn their goddamn keep for once and interrupt his spiral.

_Or maybe it isn’t even about you at all, Winchester. Not everything is about you. Stow your shit and figure out what Cas needs right now, you goddamn egomaniac. _

Okay, so maybe Dean still has some work to do when it comes to negative self-talk, but still, he did learn _some_ things in therapy.

He decides to try a different approach, “So, how’s your pain?”

Cas gives him a flat look, “It’s fine. I’m not in pain.”

Dean raises two disbelieving eyebrows.

Cas roles his eyes before amending, “I’m not in any more pain than usual. I’m fine.”

“Sure,” Dean says, clasping his hands behind his head and stretching out on the bed, “’cause you sound fine. Not short, or distant, or like you’d bite my head off as soon as look at me at all. Perfectly fine. Juuuuust peachy.”

Cas opens his mouth like he’s about to argue, before suddenly slumping back against the pillows and rubbing a defeated hand across his face.

“I’m sorry, Dean. It’s not you. I’m just... frustrated.”

“About what? Maybe I can help.” As quickly as Cas is healing, Dean knows his friend is often still frustrated with his lack of progress, missing being able to do so many of the simple, everyday things that able-bodied people take for granted.

Cas looks amused as he responds, “I don’t think so Dean. Not with this.”

“Hey,” Dean can’t help but bristle slightly as he sits up on the bed and shifts to face Cas, “you don’t know that. I’m not just a pretty face, you know. I can be pretty handy to have around in a pinch.”

Cas actually snorts and Dean narrows his eyes, “Look, I know you don’t like people doing everything for you, but maybe I can help you problem solve how to do it yourself.”

Cas bursts into full-on giggles, falling back against his pillows as his shoulders shake with laughter.

“Actually,” he wheezes, “I think ‘doing it myself,’ is the problem.”

Dean watches helplessly, feeling completely lost.

Seeing the expression on his face, Cas sobers.

“I’m sorry,” he pants, “It’s just... it’s not that kind of frustration.”

When all he gets is a confused look in reply, Cas elaborates, “Do you remember the Futurama meme you sent me in the hospital?”

Dean spends a moment trying to remember exactly which meme Cas is talking about (they’ve exchanged dozens of memes over the past couple months), when he notices that his friend is suddenly red-faced and his eyes are looking anywhere but Dean. 

Oh.

_Oh._

“Oh, um... you mean?” Dean gestures vaguely toward their laps, his own face suddenly matching Castiel’s.

“Yes,” Cas answers, “That.”

Dean thinks back to what Cas had said a moment ago about doing it himself being the problem.

He swallows.

Okay. Dean can do this. Dean can totally do this. He can totally have a conversation about masturbation with the best friend who’s been making increasingly persistent cameos in Dean’s own masturbatory fantasies, despite his best efforts to _not fucking go there_.

They’ve made dick jokes before, right? This is just like that.

Dean’s got this.

“So,” he clears his throat awkwardly, “you said that you think doing it yourself is the problem? So, what, you just can’t get your engine to turn over, or is your engine revved, but you can’t seem to get her to shift into gear?”

Cas’ shoots him a look that’s about three parts annoyance, two parts confusion, and one part silent horror.

Okay, so maybe Dean doesn’t got this.

“Dean, I’m not talking about this with you and even if I were talking about this with you, I’d have no idea what the hell you were just talking about.”

Dean’s about to snark back when he pauses and really looks at his friend.

Below the snark and false bravado, Cas looks both humiliated and hopelessly defeated. His face is so red it’s starting to look almost purple and Dean feels his own embarrassment and awkwardness melt away. He has to wipe that look off Cas’ face.

He has to.

Dean sighs, “Well then who are you going to talk about it with? Gabe?”

Cas recoils in horror.

“God, no!”

“Well then,” Dean starts, “awkward car references aside, just tell me what the problem is.”

God this conversation would be a lot easier to have if they weren’t sitting on a fucking _bed_, but what are you gonna do?

Rubbing the bridge of his nose, Cas sighs, “It’s the pain.”

“You mean, when you...” Dean trails off and Cas nods.

“What kind of pain?”

“It’s mainly the laceration along my ribs. With the angle, any... vigorous movement irritates the scar tissue and sets my entire side on fire,” Cas explains.

“So, you’re saying pulling on your pickle pulls on the laceration?” Dean clarifies with a grin.

Cas rolls his eyes, but he’s wearing his own small grin when he replies, “If you want to put it so crudely.”

“I do,” Dean interrupts cheerfully, glad to have finally broken through their earlier tension.

“Yes,” Cas finishes.

“Dude,” Dean has a sudden realization, “So you haven’t been able to actually... finish a, uh, self-care session since the accident? That was more than two months ago!”

“Hence the frustration,” Cas answers defeatedly, “and why you can’t help.”

Trying to hold onto their light banter, Dean volleys with a waggle of his eyebrows, “Well, technically, I’m pretty sure I _could_ help.”

Dean meant it as a joke. He swears he did.

It sounds more like an offer.

Cas arches an eyebrow, “Oh really? Do you help all your friends achieve orgasm, Dean?”

“Only the hot ones,” Dean answers easily, before continuing with a smirk, “or the really, really pathetic ones.”

“How noble of you,” responds Cas drily.

Dean shrugs.

“What can I say? I’m a giver.”

Cas snorts, but there’s something a little vulnerable in his eyes when he asks, “So which one am I, then? Hot or pathetic?”

Dean mentally flails, searching desperately for his cocky demeanor of a moment ago, but there’s nothing but breathless honesty in his voice when he murmurs, “Nothing pathetic about you, Cas.”

Cas’ eyes widen as they meet Dean’s and then suddenly those eyes are a lot closer. Dean’s not sure when he leaned in toward Cas, or when Cas sat up to meet him, but suddenly they’re there, lips inches apart. 

Dean wants to close the gap so badly, but he holds himself back, whispering, “When was your last dose of pain medication, Cas?”

“Hours ago. I assure you, Dean, I’m of sound mind, if not body, and fully able to consent...”

The rest of Cas’ reply is lost to the light press of Dean’s lips against his, one of Dean’s hands rising to cup the English teacher’s stubbled cheek. 

Cas lets out a tiny sound that’s almost a whimper and then suddenly his mouth surges against Dean’s, deepening the kiss and drinking Dean in. Dean pours himself into the kiss, into Cas. Electric sparks sizzle across Dean’s spine as he runs the tip of his tongue along the seam of Cas’ lips. Cas opens eagerly, his own tongue meeting Dean’s with a familiarity and comfort that shouldn’t be possible in a first kiss. 

Cas begins to sink down against the pillows again, slowly pulling away from Dean’s lips before surging back up to kiss him again and again, lying back a little further each time and drawing Dean down with him using nothing but his lips, his elbows and forearms braced against the bed, supporting his weight. Dean goes willingly, until he’s lying on his side, hovering over Cas, careful not to put any pressure on his injured friend.

As they continue to kiss, Cas relaxes into the mattress and finally brings a hand up, sliding his fingers into Dean’s hair and tightening them there, as if he’s trying to keep Dean from pulling away... as if there’s anywhere in this goddamn world Dean would rather be.

Moaning at the sensation, he kisses Cas deeper. It’s still cautious, still careful, but also fucking fantastic. He moves his right hand from Cas’ cheek down to his uninjured side. When he feels Cas’ stomach muscles jump beneath his palm, he slides his hand under Cas’ t’shirt, dragging it slowly upwards. 

Suddenly, Cas’ fingers clench in Dean’s hair and he rips himself away from Dean’s mouth, panting, “Dean, I... I can’t.”

Instantly, Dean releases Cas and rolls away from him, breath ragged and eyes wild as they roam up and down his friend’s body, looking for signs of pain or distress.

“What’s wrong? Are you okay? Fuck, did I hurt you?” Dean asks frantically.

“No. _No._ Dean, I’m fine,” Cas assures him as Dean takes a shaky breath.

“Then what’s wrong? Do you... do you not want this?” Dean hates how timid he sounds, but he can’t fucking help it. 

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Cas. I thought we were on the same page. I shouldn’t have...”

Dean stops talking as Cas’ hand covers his mouth.

“Dean, I wouldn’t have spent ten minutes kissing you back if I didn’t want this. It’s not that.”

Once Cas removes his hand, Dean asks, “Then what is it? Too fast?”

“Not exactly,” Cas hedges.

Dean waits and Cas looks away, face reverting to its previous crimson shade.

“It’s just... I look different now, since the accident. You might think I’m, ‘hot,’ with my shirt on, but...” he trails off, eyes still locked on his fingers where they fidget nervously in his lap.

Ever slow on the uptake (and still more than a little dazed from that kiss), Dean stares stupidly for a moment until realization strikes.

Scars. Cas is worried that Dean won’t be attracted to him because of his accident scars.

Dean can’t help it.

He laughs.

Cas head snaps up and his eyes lock on Dean’s, incredulous and hurt.

Dean sobers immediately.

“Cas,” he says softly, reaching out and gently tugging the other man’s chin up when Cas tries to duck his head again, “Scars or no scars, you’re incredible, every inch of you. That accident should have killed you, but it didn’t. You’re a goddamn miracle, Cas.”

Cas blushes, but insists stubbornly, “Miracle or not, Dean, my body’s still ruined.”

Dean hesitates, almost afraid to ask his next question. The answer could decide a hell of a lot about their friendship.

“Is that really how you feel?” His voice is barely a whisper. “That people with scars are ruined? That someone stops being attractive just because their body changes or gets damaged?”

“What? Of course not!” Cas looks horrified at the thought and Dean relaxes. 

“Good,” Dean says, giving Cas a pointed look, “Me neither.”

He takes a deep breath, “But, in case you need more convincing, there’s something you should probably see.”

Dean twists himself around until he’s facing away from Cas, then reaches over his head and grips the back of his Henley, pulling it off in one swift motion.

He closes his eyes as Cas lets out a quiet gasp behind him.

* * *

Castiel lets out a startled gasp as Dean’s back is revealed to him. The skin on his friend’s back is gnarled and discolored; raised in angry, crisscrossing pink and white ridges. 

The scars, burn scars, he realizes with a start, wrap around the top of Dean’s right shoulder and extend down his friend’s back in a foot-wide diagonal arc, licking around his left hip like the flames that left them. 

“The fire,” he murmurs, “it wasn’t just your mother who was hurt.”

“Yeah,” Dean whispers hoarsely. “I told you things went to shit after my dad told Sam and me to get outta there. We’d almost made it to the door when the living room ceiling started to cave in. I shoved Sammy out of the way in time, but I got pinned to the floor by a support beam. This is why I was out of school so long.”

“This is what Cassie couldn’t deal with,” Castiel finishes Dean’s unspoken thought.

“Yeah.”

He reaches out and rests a comforting hand on Dean’s scarred shoulder, only to lift it again when Dean jumps.

“I’m sorry. Should I not have?”

“No! I mean, yeah, it’s fine,” Dean assures, turning back around to face him. “It’s just that it usually takes people a while to get used to the scars is all. Most people aren’t exactly comfortable touching them right away.”

Castiel frowns, “I’m not touching your scars. I’m touching you.”

Dean smiles softly at him and Castiel is suddenly reminded that Dean Winchester, the Greek god who moonlights as a local fire-fighting, probably-kitten-rescuing hero, is sitting in front of him, shirtless. 

His eyes roam the expanse of Dean’s broad, chiseled pectorals and biceps, before trailing downward. Dean’s stomach may be less defined than his chest, but it’s no less attractive for it, firm with just a bit of softness that Castiel can see himself biting and sucking marks into.

As his eyes make their way back to Dean’s, Castiel sees his own lust and desire reflected there. Dean licks his lips and Castiel inhales deeply, before reaching for the hem of his shirt and carefully peeling it off. He holds Dean’s eyes until the t-shirt blocks his view as he pulls it over his head. 

When he discards the shirt and looks back at Dean, he finds his friend looking him over appreciatively, his roaming eyes just as hot and hungry as they had been a moment ago.

“Beautiful,” Dean murmurs and Castiel blushes, even as he reaches for the firefighter.

Dean follows willingly as Castiel lays back against the pillows, resuming their former position. 

“Just for the record,” he murmurs as he strokes the side of Dean’s face, “I think you’re beautiful too.” He smiles shyly, “And I’ve thought you were a goddamn miracle since the first moment we met.”

Dean beams at him and Castiel wraps a hand around the firefighter’s neck, pulling him in to taste the sunshine.

This time, when Dean’s hand begins to roam along Castiel’s abdomen, he arches into it, moaning as Dean’s fingers trail upward and his thumb grazes a nipple.

Dean’s clever mouth traces along Castiel’s jawline, leaving wet kisses in its wake as he moves toward Castiel’s ear.

“Lemme take care of you, Cas,” Dean mouth is hot and wet against his ear and Castiel shudders and nods helplessly as Dean sucks gently on his earlobe.

Dean begins moving downward again, sucking kisses into Castiel’s neck as he goes. Castiel feels those plump lips curl up in a smile against his throat when he groans and winds his fingers back into Dean’s hair. The firefighter hums against his collarbone and Castiel shivers as electric tingles spread through his body.

_Fuck. _Dean is everywhere at once. He still feels the ghost of Dean’s last kiss on his lips and the sharp sting of the hickey Dean sucked into his collarbone, even as he feels the man’s thumb continue to fondle one pebbled nipple while he sucks on the other, swirling the tip of his tongue around the hardened nub.

It’s amazing, and completely overwhelming, and nowhere near enough.

“Dean,” Castiel begs, voice entirely wrecked, “touch me, please!”

“Shh, I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Dean soothes.

Castiel’s stomach leaps at the endearment he’s heard only one other time from his firefighter. Fisting his hand in Dean’s short hair, he hauls the man upward and crashes their lips together. He kisses Dean like he’s starving for it, devouring the other man’s mouth relentlessly until they’re forced to separate by the unfortunate and annoying necessity of breathing.

Dean grins wolfishly as he runs his fingers under the elastic of Castiel’s pajama pants, eliciting a whimper. 

“Can we take these off?”

Castiel nods weakly and presses his arms against the mattress as he lifts his hips, silently thanking his physical therapist for making him do those fucking bridges. Very gently, Dean eases Castiel’s pants down his hips, muttering a soft, “Fuck,” when he sees that Castiel isn’t wearing any boxers underneath. He slowly pulls the soft flannel all the way down Castiel’s legs, tossing them to other side of the bed once they’re off.

Having stripped Castiel bare in more ways than one, Dean sits back on his heels and surveys the man below him. Castiel feels himself growing impossibly harder with Dean eyeing him hungrily. He knows he must look absolutely debauched: panting desperately, wild hair in total disarray, eyes shining, cheeks and chest flushed pink with desire, taut muscles quivering in anticipation, his cock standing proud and erect. Dean takes it all in, pressing a hand against the growing bulge in his own jeans.

Castiel grimaces.

“Dean,” he starts, “I, um, probably won’t be able to reciprocate...”

Dean silences him with a kiss. “This isn’t about me. It’s for you. All for you.”

Dean slides down and gingerly settles himself between Castiel’s legs, before he looks up at him.

“I’m gonna make you feel so good, sweetheart, but you’ve gotta keep still, okay?”

Nodding desperately, Castiel takes a look at Dean and nearly weeps at the sight of this gorgeous Adonis between his legs, looking up at him through long, dark eyelashes. 

Bracing his weight on his forearms, Dean licks a long stripe up Castiel’s cock, which leaps joyfully in response, eliciting a loud and filthy groan from Castiel.

“Dean,” he whines, far past caring about how needy and pathetic he must sound, “Don’t tease me. I can’t take it.”

Instead of answering, Dean wraps his lips around Castiel and takes him in to the hilt in one smooth motion, surrounding Castiel’s aching cock in hot, wet heat. He bobs his head slowly, pulling almost all the way off before swallowing Castiel back down time and again as if the firefighter’s never even heard of a gag reflex. 

As a particularly shameless moan escapes Castiel’s throat, Dean pulls back, swirling his tongue around Castiel’s cockhead before pulling all the way off and shooting him a cocky smirk.

“Better,” he asks hoarsely?

“Uuuungh.”

Dean chuckles and cocks a smug eyebrow at Castiel before resuming his apparent and resoundingly successful mission to melt each and every one of Castiel’s brain cells. 

Increasing his suction, Dean begins to bob his head faster, pulling a litany of helpless moans, whimpers, and garbled praise from Castiel.

“Fuck, Dean, your mouth. So good. So fucking perfect.”

Dean moans around Castiel’s cock in response and Castiel feels the heat in his belly ratcheting up, that familiar release that’s been denied to him for so many weeks finally edging closer.

Castiel looks down at Dean, the muscles in his neck and biceps straining as he surges up and down on Castiel’s spit-slick cock, while being careful not to rest any of his weight on Castiel’s body. It can’t be a comfortable position for Dean, but the man is completely undeterred, his single-minded focus on bringing Castiel pleasure and _fuck,_ is that hot.

“Dean, close. So close. You’re gonna make me come if you keep this up.”

Dean pops off with an obscene squelching noise and locks eyes with Castiel, green on blue.

“Come for me, sweetheart.”

Without waiting for a response, he takes Castiel back into his mouth, swallowing him down until Castiel feels the head of his cock hit the back of Dean’s throat.

Dean’s words ringing in his ears, Castiel’s coming down the other man’s throat with a strangled cry only moments later.

The exhaustion that hits Castiel following his first orgasm in almost ten weeks probably shouldn’t be surprising given his physical and emotional state these days, but it is. He somehow feels both impossibly content and incredibly guilty at the same time, as he snuggles into the blanket Dean pulls over them.

“But, you didn’t...” he begins awkwardly, his apology interrupted by a yawn.

“Shh... I told you, Cas. It wasn’t about me. I’m good, believe me.” Dean soothes, pressing a kiss against Cas’ temple. “Sleep now, sweetheart.”

“Dean, stay with me?” Cas slurs tiredly, already halfway asleep.

“Always, Cas. Always.”

Castiel’s last conscious thought before he drifts off in the firefighter’s arms, is that Dean even sounds like he means it.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: accidents scars, burn scars, description of past serious injury in a fire, oral sex, painfully awkward banter between two complete idiots
> 
> Well, it's about time this slow burn got a bit hotter! I hope you weren't too disappointed with their incredibly awkward and stilted start here, but if you were I mean, come on, have you _met_ these guys? Awkward is kinda their jam. 
> 
> I hope all of you Americans got through the holiday unscathed, but if you didn't feel free to share your awkward, painful, funny, or infuriating stories in the comments. After all, misery loves company! Also, my sincere condolences to anyone who works retail and has to face that madness tomorrow. 
> 
> Next chapter: Our boys have some decisions to make. They should probably talk. Let's all see how they try to avoid doing just that, shall we?


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas and Dean get a surprise awakening (and not just emotionally), we see some more familiar faces, and one of our boys makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey friends! I hope you've all recovered from your turkey/pie comas, Black Friday madness, or just your weekends for those who don't celebrate American Thanksgiving. I'm working on recovering from my week. The dreaded stomach virus has hit my house this week, while my husband spends this week and next on travel. I'm currently posting this from my bed, where I have spend most of my day (which, if it weren't for the whole sickness thing, would be rather lovely).
> 
> Body aches and general whiny-ness are setting in, so before I get too obnoxious, on to the chapter! No warnings this week. I truly hope you enjoy this one, though, because I really do. Writing some of these scenes was just SO MUCH FUN!

** _Tuesday, November 13, 2018_ **

Castiel stirs as he hears the distant sound of a key turning in the apartment door. 

_Gabriel must be home, _he muses as he settles his cheek back against the soft pillow of hair attached to the head currently nestled against his shoulder. 

_Dean’s hair_, Castiel recalls with a sleepy, sated smile. _Dean’s head._

_Wait. Gabriel is home? _

“Cassie? Dean-O? You guys better be decent! There are young, impressionable eyes out here, you know! And Claire’s here too!”

_Gabriel is home!_

He and Dean both start, suddenly and violently awake, Castiel hissing at the pain the movement causes to shoot through his lower half.

“Shhh!” Dean shushes him frantically, earning himself a glare. 

With an apologetic grimace, Dean scrambles for their clothes. Blushing, he tosses Castiel’s t-shirt and pajama pants to him before pulling on his Henley and rushing out to distract Gabriel while Castiel dresses much more slowly and carefully.

By the time Castiel makes it to the front room, Dean’s already got his shoes on and is slowly backing toward the front door. Jacket in hand, hair mussed, cheek still flushed red where it was pressed against Castiel’s bare chest just minutes ago, Dean looks for all the world like a teenager who just got walked in on by his prom date’s parents.

Castiel grimaces, just barely resisting the urge to run a hand through his own sex-tangled hair in frustration. Dean couldn’t broadcast what they’d been up to any more loudly if he were screaming it into a loudspeaker. 

Mustering the few, remaining shreds of his dignity as Gabriel watches with a gleeful smirk, Castiel swallows and shoots Dean a weak smile, “Have a good night, Dean.”

“Yeah, you too, Cas.” The smile he gives Cas is uncertain, but warm. 

“We’ll talk later,” he says pointedly and Castiel nods before Dean turns and practically stumbles out of the apartment door in his haste to flee this very uncomfortable situation.

“Well, Claire-Bear,” Gabriel booms jovially as the hoists the baby from her carrier, “I suppose you and I are supposed to just pretend there wasn’t anything weird about that little exchange at all. What do you think? Should we play along?”

He tickles Claire’s tummy and she responds by blowing raspberries at her uncle, one of the many unsavory traits Gabriel has been determined to teach her.

“Yeah, me either, kiddo.”

Red-faced but determined, Castiel turns his wheelchair to glare at his brother, who immediately bursts into laughter.

“What?” he asks shortly.

“Nothing,” Gabriel chokes out between chortles as he bounces Claire on his hip, “I’ve just never seen someone manage to do the walk of shame while A: not being able to walk, and B: already in their own apartment.”

“What makes you think I’ve done something to be ashamed of?” 

“Da,” Claire interrupts, clearly annoyed that she hasn’t received her usual warm greeting from her father.

“Sorry, sweet girl,” he says, reaching up to take the squirming baby from Gabriel as she stretches out her arms. Castiel grins. He still gets a warm feeling in his chest every time Claire reaches for him. 

“That’s where you’ve got it wrong, baby bro. _I’m _not the one who thinks you should be ashamed. Whatever you have or have not done with one stunningly attractive, ridiculously available, and completely gone on you firefighter, it’s nothing that you should feel ashamed or guilty about,” Gabe answers as he preheats the oven and pulls one of the many casseroles sent home with Charlie by Castiel’s surprisingly thoughtful coworkers out of the fridge.

In fact, the generosity of Castiel’s colleagues has been remarkable. Sure, Castiel is on much better terms with most of them than with Walker, but with the exception of Charlie, he wouldn’t exactly consider himself close with any of them. They trade casual chit chat by the microwave in the staff lounge and nods in the hallways, but that’s generally it. Despite that lack of intimacy, Castiel’s fellow teachers and school system employees have not only created a meal train to fill his freezer full of easily reheated meals for his family, they’ve also donated enough sick leave through the teacher union’s leave donation program to cover Castiel’s entire six-month absence. He won’t miss a single paycheck while he’s gone. Between the leave donations and his school system’s excellent health insurance, Castiel will (eventually) walk away from the kind of medical trauma that could easily leave a less fortunate person bankrupt or even homeless, paying no more than the modest co-pays for all of his follow-up visits and therapies. It makes him teary-eyed to even think about how his coworkers have come together to put food on the table for his family while he’s not able to, both figuratively and literally. 

Needing a moment to recover his equilibrium after Gabriel’s comment and his own emotional recollection, Castiel ignores his brother and focuses instead on his daughter.

“Daddy missed you today,” he coos planting kisses all over Claire’s face, to her delighted giggles. He spends a couple more minutes playing with Claire and nuzzling her soft curls until he can no longer ignore the feeling of his older brother’s eyes boring into him across the kitchen peninsula. 

“I am not ashamed,” he mumbles, “of Dean or anything we may or may not have done together, which I am certainly not confirming nor discussing with you.”

“So, guilty it is then,” Gabriel nods, as if he suspected as much.

“I didn’t say that,” Castiel pouts.

“Well, you didn’t not say it,” Gabriel points out, gesturing with the large plastic spoon he’s using to stir the casserole before putting it in the oven to cook.

“What makes you think I feel guilty?” Castiel deflects weakly as Claire begins to squirm.

“Dow,” she demands, wiggling her way off Castiel’s lap. He sets her on the floor and watches as she crawls toward her toys in the living room, avoiding his brother’s gaze.

Gabriel sighs and leans his hip against the kitchen countertop, arms crossed. “Because I know you, Castiel. I know how that head of yours works. You’re probably already trying to convince yourself that this thing with Dean can’t work, because of Claire, as if you somehow owe it to Claire to be alone and miserable forever just because the world’s largest-but-least-useful douche nozzle walked out on the two of you.”

Castiel shifts uncomfortably in his wheelchair.

“Gabriel, that’s not...”

“Look Cassie, I’m not saying you have to date Dean if you really aren’t into him. I’m just saying you shouldn’t rule out the possibility because Asshole McFuckface didn’t know a good thing when he had it. Dean’s not him.”

Not liking where this conversation is headed, Castiel rolls his eyes and tries for levity.

“I _know_ that Dean’s not Bart, Gabriel. For one thing, he’s a much better kisser.”

Gabriel looks both shocked and impressed at Castiel’s admission.

Castiel smirks. 

“Nice try at a distraction there, kiddo,” Gabriel counters, eyes narrowing, “but I’m not that easy.”

“I’m sure I can round up the phone numbers of at least a dozen women who’ll disagree.”

“Cut the crap, Castiel,” Gabe warns in his seldom-used big-brother voice, “I’m _trying_ to have a serious broment, here.”

Castiel’s smirk turns into a grimace, but he quiets, making a slightly sulky _go on_ gesture as he glares at his brother.

“Dean’s _not _Bart,” Gabriel says seriously. The use of his ex’s actual name draws Castiel’s eyes to his brother’s as Gabriel continues in a softer voice, “and he’s not me either.”

Before Castiel can interrupt, Gabe talks over him, “And he’s not Mom, or Dad, or Zach, or anyone else who’s been stupid enough to live their life without you in it. Don’t punish him and yourself for other people’s mistakes.”

Expression softening, Castiel sighs, “Gabriel, I don’t blame you for leaving home. I never have. You did what you had to. I was happy for you when you got out of there. I still am.”

“Doesn’t mean it didn’t still affect you.” Gabriel looks at him pointedly. “As a kid you were shy, but curious. Now? You’re cautious. Guarded. You don’t let people in. There’s a reason you’ve only got two friends, Cassie, and contrary to whatever lies you might tell yourself, it’s not because people don’t like you. The number of casserole dishes in your freezer right now proves that.”

“That still doesn’t make it your fault, Gabriel. You’re not responsible for me.”

Rolling his eyes, Gabriel argues, “Of course I’m responsible for you. I’m your big brother.”

In spite of himself, Castiel chuckles, “Now you sound like Dean.”

Spinning around, Gabriel points dramatically at Castiel with his spoon, “Do _not _tell him I said this, but Dean-O’s actually a pretty great guy. I think the two of you could be pretty great together too, so just do yourself a favor and try not to fuck this up.”

Exasperated, Castiel counters, “Gabriel, there’s nothing _to_ fuck up. Right now, Dean and I are just friends. We haven’t even had a chance to talk about whether or not that’s going to change. I don't even know for sure that Dean _wants_ that to change. Just because we _may _or _may not_ have done... _something_ together, doesn’t mean that Dean wants anything more than friendship with me. It certainly doesn’t mean he’s ready to take on the responsibilities of a serious relationship and parenthood, which is the only direction any kind of relationship with me can go.”

Gabriel turns back toward the countertop with a groan and thunks his head against a cabinet door.

“He’s totally going to fuck this up,” he says disbelievingly to the kitchen cabinets before walking past Castiel and scooping up Claire in the living room.

“C’mon Claire-Bear,” he sing-songs in his most obnoxious baby-talk voice, “let’s go change your diaper while Daddy stews in denial and self-sabotage.”

“By the way,” he calls over his shoulder to Castiel as he carries Claire to the nursery, “regarding that _something _that _may _or _may not_ have happened with Dean, you missed a button on your shirt and your pants are inside out.”

* * *

** _Thursday, November 15, 2018_ **

“Well, hey there Captain Hot Pants. Those jeans get any tighter and I won’t have to imagine what your fire hose looks like anymore.”

Dean rolls his eyes before turning around to face the short, curvy brunette openly admiring his backside, “Hello, Meg. You sexually harass all your clients, or am I just special?”

“Technically, you’re not my client, Ken Doll, Clarence is. _He’s _off-limits.” Meg pouts for a moment before her expression brightens, “That’s okay though, he might have that sexy smite-look down, but you’re more fun to play with.” Smirking, she looks Dean over with a predatory glance that _does not_ make him shift uncomfortably.

“Lucky me,” he says flatly.

“Oh, sweet cheeks, you have_ no_ idea. But unfortunately for little old me, someone else has called dibs,” Meg puts on exaggerated pout and nods across the room to the pretty redhead stuffing Claire’s folded blanket into her already bursting diaper bag.

“Anna?” Dean asks with a raise of his eyebrows.

“What’s wrong with Anna?” Meg asks, defensive. “She’s an angel!”

“Nothing,” Dean assures her quickly before shrugging, “I’ve just never really thought about it and she’s never said anything, so...”

Meg rolls her eyes, “What, do women usually just jump you the first time they set eyes on those beautiful bow legs of yours?”

Before Dean can even begin to formulate a response to _that_, she holds up a hand, “You know what? On second thought, don’t answer that. They probably do.”

Anna, owner and teacher at Little Angels Childcare and Preschool, is currently bundling Claire into a green fleece jacket with white polka dots. She’s undeniably pretty with her slim frame, light brown eyes, and vibrant red hair. Under different circumstances, Dean wouldn’t hesitate to put on the Winchester charm and see if he could put a blush on Anna’s pretty features to match her hair color. Now though, he’s only got eyes for one teacher.

_Christ._ When did he turn into such a goddamn sap?

“Look, she-demon, I’m just here to get my kid and get out. Believe it or not, I don’t prowl around preschools looking for dates.”

Meg shrugs, “You should. Plenty of desperate single moms around this joint. And, ‘your kid,’ huh? What’s that about Dean-o?”

Dean blushes as Meg raises an eyebrow, “You know what I mean. She’s my responsibility until I deliver her safely home to Cas.”

“And how is Hot Wheels?” Meg asks, sounding more genuine than she has so far. 

Dean softens in spite of himself.

“Good,” he answers, “Still healing and still has his bad days, but he’s getting stronger every day. Only a few more weeks until he can start walking again.”

He can _feel_ the idiotic smile creeping across his face, but he’ll be damned if he can help it. He’s just so damn proud of Cas. The guy has been through some real shit the past few months, but he’s worked so goddamn hard and Dean’s thrilled that it’s paying off.

“Are you sweet on my unicorn, Winchester?” Meg asks and it’s as close to gentle as her tone ever gets. She’s wearing a look that’s way more perceptive than Dean is comfortable with. 

Trying to ignore the renewed heat in his cheeks, he opens his mouth to deny her (incredibly accurate) observation, but is blissfully saved from responding by a sudden joyful screech. Dean’s pretty sure he didn’t know that _screeches_ could, in fact, be joyful until he met Claire.

“Dee!”

“Heya, Blondie! How’s my favorite girl?” Dean gives Claire his usual greeting before planting a kiss on her golden hair and looking up to a warm smile from Anna.

“Hi, Dean,” the petite ginger greets as she hands over the chubby baby already stretching her arms out toward Dean.

“Hi, Anna. Thanks.” 

Dean and Anna both chuckle as Claire immediately snuggles into Dean’s shoulder and pops a thumb in her mouth.

“Aww, are you tired, sweet girl?” Dean asks, stroking Claire’s soft curls and rocking her slowly, side-to-side, before glancing back up at Anna, “How’d she do today?”

As Anna briefly recounts Claire’s day, Dean starts to relax, thinking Meg had him worried for nothing. He’s so relieved that he almost misses it when Anna suddenly changes directions.

“So, Dean,” she starts, an unfamiliar shy expression on the usually confident teacher’s face, “I was wondering if you’d like to get coffee some time?”

Behind Anna’s back, Meg shoots Dean a pointed, I-told-you-so look. 

“Um, well,” Dean fumbles, looking for some way to let Anna down that won’t end with him having to explain to Cas why he can never pick Claire up from Little Angels again.

It’s Meg that saves him from answering this time, although “saves,” probably isn’t the right word.

“I wouldn’t get your hopes up there, Red,” she smirks, “Our firefighter here is definitely hot for teacher, but I’m pretty sure he’s not looking for the bubbly, preschool variety.”

At Anna’s interested eyebrow raise Meg continues, “I think the model he’s interested in has sex-hair, a permanent scowl, and is currently the hottest thing on four wheels.”

Dean adopts his own scowl as Anna’s brown eyes light up in delighted realization. 

“Is that so, Dean? You’ve got a thing for Castiel? Well, in that case, I concede. No way am I going to compete with those biceps and baby blues,” she announces with a smirk that matches Megs, the shy expression and hesitant tone of voice vanishing so quickly and completely it makes Dean’s head spin.

Still swaying with the dozing baby, he glares.

“One,” he starts, pointing at Meg, “my car is and always will be the hottest thing on four wheels. Two,” he switches his glare to Anna, “I _do not_ have _a thing_ for Cas.”

“Good,” chirps Meg with a sinister grin, “then you’re free to go out with Anna after all!”

Dean gapes. _Shit._

“Fabulous,” Anna chimes in with her best innocent smile that’s not fooling Dean for a goddamn _second_ this time. “How about this weekend? Unless,” she pauses, her expression falling into mock sadness, “it’s just that you’re not interested in _me_. Am I just so unattractive that you can’t even go on one date with me, Dean?”

“Dean-O,” Meg chastises before Dean can get a word in edgewise, “how could you be so cruel? It took a lot of nerve for Anna to ask you out like that. This’ll _crush_ the poor girl’s confidence!”

“It’s true,” Anna nods seriously, “I’m fragile.”

“So, is that how it’s going to be, Winchester? You’re just going to leave poor Anna feeling all heartbroken and rejected, thinking that she’s so repulsive the great sex-god Dean Winchester can’t even get a cup of coffee with her?”

Dean opens his mouth to defend himself, then immediately wonders why he bothered.

“_Or,_ could it be possible that you’ve already got that flannel-wrapped heart set one someone else?”

The two women stare at Dean expectantly.

He glares at them.

Two sets of eyebrows raise in silent demand, the exact replica of a move Cas uses on him at least twice a week.

_Goddammit. How do teachers DO that? Do they teach them that in teacher college?_

Dean drops his head in defeat and is faced with devilish twin grins.

“You both suck.”

“Not yet, I don’t, but if you play your cards ri...”

“Shut up, Meg!”

Rubbing his temple in a futile attempt to dull the throb of his suddenly aching head, he sighs, “Fine, if it’ll shut you up, I _might_ have a thing for Cas. Are you two harpies happy now?”

Knowing that his face his as red as Anna’s hair, Dean hopes desperately that with his scowl he can pass for pissed off instead of mortified.

“Good luck with Castiel, Dean,” Anna smiles kindly, _finally _handing over Claire’s diaper bag so Dean can escape with what little dignity he has left.

Meg, however, seems completely undeterred by Dean’s murderous expression. Her Cheshire Cat grin is unnerving.

“I have questions.”

“The answers are no, hell no, and none of your goddamn business,” Dean snarks as he turns and begins to head toward the exit with Claire.

“Take care of my unicorn, Winchester!” Meg calls after him, “And if the two of you ever wanna order a pizza and move some furniture around, you know where to find me!”

“In your dreams, you psycho!”

“Oh, you can count on that, stud!” 

Meg’s cackling follows Dean out of the daycare’s front doors and into the parking lot.

Sighing and feeling suddenly exhausted, he buckles Claire into her car seat before slipping behind Baby’s wheel. Great, between Gabe and the Babysitter’s Club, that’s now three people who think there’s something going on between him and Cas. Dean just wishes _he_ knew if there’s something going on between him and Cas. He blushes as he recalls his less than graceful exit from Cas’ apartment the other night, under Gabe’s gleeful gaze. Dean thought he was halfway covering, telling Gabe about how they’d fallen asleep watching movies again. Then Cas had come in the room looking fucking _debauched: _shirt misbuttoned, flannel pants inside-out, and no bedhead has ever looked that freshly fucked. There was no denying what they’d been up to after that. So, Dean did the only reasonable thing he could think of: he ran, just like he had when his homecoming date’s dad had caught him with his hand under her dress sophomore year.

It’s been two days since Dean stumbled out of Cas’ front door and they’ve exchanged a meager handful of text messages since then, mostly confirming plans regarding Claire. It’s a painfully noticeable change for them. The lengthy text exchanges they began early in their friendship have only increased over time and unless Dean’s on a call, he doesn’t usually go more than a couple of hours without hearing from Cas. The scattered and to-the-point conversations of the past few days feel like the deafening silence that follows an avalanche. 

He’s sure Cas is freaking out as much as he is, but Dean still hasn’t been able to bring himself to just call the guy. Today will be the first time they’re face-to-face since... well, _since._ He’s hoping Cas’ll let him stick around to talk when he drops off Claire. He knows the near radio silence over the past two days doesn’t bode well for him, but still, he doesn’t regret what they did. If Cas decides he doesn’t want this, whatever _this_ is, it’ll hurt, but they’ll get past it. He’s not going to lose his best friend over sex. Because that’s all Tuesday was about. Sex. 

_Never mind that you didn’t even come and yet it was still some of the best goddamn sex of your life, you deluded asshole._

Dean’s still telling his inner monologue to fuck right off, thank you very much, when he and Claire walk into Cas’ apartment. Maybe that’s why he doesn’t recognize the female voice he hears until he reaches the dining room and sees the pair seated at the table.

“Lydia?”

* * *

“Well Castiel, I’m both pleased and a little sad to say this will be our last session together. Castiel?”

Castiel shakes himself and focuses on the smiling occupational therapist across from him. He’s been more than a little distracted during their session today, his thoughts turning repeatedly to a certain green-eyed firefighter.

It’s been two days since he’s seen Dean and they haven’t talked about what happened between them Tuesday afternoon. In fact, they’ve barely talked at all. Castiel isn’t proud to admit that he’s been avoiding Dean, but he still has no idea what he’s going to say to his friend, which is problematic, since Dean is due to bring Claire home any minute.

“It’s hard to believe. Thank you, though, for helping me get back to being me again.”

On the one hand, Tuesday afternoon was... _incredible. Amazing. Phenomenal. Better than any sex you ever had with Bart, _Castiel’s brain helpfully supplies.

“Don’t thank me. You did all the hard work!”

On the other hand, is any sex, regardless how... _mind-blowing, life-changing, earth—_

“Well, I still thank you for your help. I couldn’t have done it without you,” Castiel interrupts his traitorous brain.

Is even the best sex worth risking his friendship with Dean? It’s possible that a relationship between them could last, but Castiel’s not naïve. He knows the cards are stacked against them. Would a few months of passion with one of the best friends he’s ever had really be worth it if things fell apart? How could they go back to being friends after that? Will they even be able to go back now?

“It was my pleasure, Castiel. You’re a dream patient, believe me.” 

“Lydia?”

Castiel and Lydia both jump at the sudden interruption and look up at the dining room doorway. Dean stands there, holding a squirming Claire, whom they’d recently upgraded from the baby carrier to a “big girl car seat.” 

Castiel tries to force a nervous smile, before realizing that Dean’s attention is entirely riveted on his OT. 

“Oh, Dean. You know Lydia? She’s my occupational therapist. I guess I never told you her name,” Castiel winces and looks apologetically at Lydia, “Dean is my... friend.” He suppresses a cringe at both his hesitation and the word, “friend,” and thinks he notices a slight wince from Dean too. 

_Oh, for goodness sake. Can this get any more awkward?_

“We used to date,” Dean blurts out, finally looking away from Lydia, but still not meeting Cas’ eyes.

_Oh, look at that. It can._

“A long time ago,” Lydia finishes smoothly, smiling at Castiel before turning back to Dean.

“It’s good to see you again, Dean. I’d like to say you look better than you did the day we broke up, but then, I wouldn’t really know. You didn’t leave a picture with that note on my pillow.” Her voice is teasing, but her smile is sharp. Castiel shifts uncomfortably. 

Dean’s mouth tightens and his face reddens slightly, but he looks more angry than embarrassed.

“Well, like you said, it was a long time ago and I think you and I may remember that break-up a little differently.” 

“Dean,” Castiel starts, intending to ask Dean to wait in the living room while he walks Lydia out, but Dean beats him to it.

“Anna said Claire had a good day at daycare. I hate to run, but I’ve got some errands that I’ve gotta get taken care of before work tonight.”

“Dean,” Castiel tries again as the firefighter dumps both Claire and the diaper bag into his lap, “We should really—”

“Soon, Cas.” Dean says, holding his eyes for a moment, green on blue, “I promise.”

Castiel barely has a chance to nod before he watches Dean rush out of his apartment for the second time in one week.

Castiel is still pondering that when Lydia speaks again.

“So... You and Dean, huh? He might be charming and easy on the eyes, but I’d be careful with that one if I were you.”

“We’re just friends,” Castiel defends automatically, but Lydia just looks at him, lips quirking in amusement.

“We were friends first, too,” she adds, “but then...”

“But then?”

“Well, you know, he’s _Dean_. He’s big and loud and charming and when he smiles at you it feels like you’re the only person in the room. He’s impossible to resist.” She sounds wistful and Castiel feels an ache behind his ribcage because he _does_ know. 

“What happened?” He doesn’t mean to ask. This is something he should hear from Dean and _only_ if Dean wants to tell him, but the question is out before he can pull it back.

She shrugs, “Things were really great at first. I thought he was the one. That we’d start a family someday. Really make a go of it.”

Her smile turns bitter, “But then we had a pregnancy scare and I learned that no matter how much he talks about his family, Dean Winchester isn’t the settling down type.”

She looks pointedly at Claire in a way that has Castiel tightening his arms around his daughter before she continues, “At least, that’s the impression I got when he disappeared from my bedroom early one morning while I was still sleeping, nothing but a scribbled note telling me it was over.”

“He just left?” Castiel feels his heart turn to ice in his chest. This can’t be. His worst fear confirmed about the _one_ person he thought might actually _stay_.

“Yep. He wouldn’t even answer my calls, other than once, to tell me that it was over and we had nothing to talk about. Today was the first time I’ve seen him since then.”

They sit in silence for a moment, as Castiel tries to process this information. 

“But, who knows? Maybe he’s changed,” Lydia finishes lamely as she gathers her things and stands to leave, shooting Castiel a pitying look that says she doesn’t believe it for a minute.

After Lydia leaves, Castiel keeps replaying her words in his head as he plays idly with his baby in the living room. He’s so distracted, he can’t even feel properly victorious when he manages to change a squirming Claire’s diaper on the sofa without managing to injure either or them or ruin the cushion.

It can’t be true. None of this sounds at all like the Dean he knows. The Dean who falls asleep in Castiel’s bed watching _Futurama_ reruns. The Dean who plays airplane with Claire, jiggling her in the air until she starts making those adorable high-pitched squeak-toy noises. The Dean who takes sticky, ice-cream coated selfies with a ten-month-old. The Dean who cooks them dinner and puts Claire to bed and tells Castiel that his ex was a douchebag for leaving.

Castiel feels slightly reassured as he recalls memory after memory of Dean, realizing now more than ever just how much space the firefighter takes up in he and Claire’s lives. Space that Castiel never knew was empty until Dean filled it. Now he knows though, there would definitely be a six-foot-high, bow-legged void in their lives without Dean. He’s brought light and laughter to what should have been one of their darkest periods and Cas can’t even imagine giving that up. 

Gabe was right when he said that Castiel doesn’t let people in, but somehow, Dean Winchester has made it past all of his defenses. Castiel could blame the accident or the pain meds, but he has a strong suspicion that it has more to do with the man himself than any outside factors. 

He goes to bed with his decision made.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there you go, friends! I hope that ending was... satisfying? *Ducks under my blankets* 😂
> 
> Before my usual blathering, a little note on the meal train Cas mentions. If you know someone who is experiencing a life-altering event like an illness, injury, death in the family, a new baby, etc, consider setting up a meal train for them at [www.mealtrain.com](https://www.mealtrain.com/). This site creates a calendar where people can sign up to deliver meals or send gift cards for the intended family. Some lovely women in a local Facebook group did this after my accident and made sure it got shared throughout our mutual friend circles and my place of business. It was hands-down, the most helpful thing for my family while I was injured. For more than 2 months, my mother (who moved in temporarily to care for me) and husband almost never had to plan a meal. Somebody would show up at the door with dinner either already prepared or ready to throw in the oven. It is also why I will forever defend the amazingness that is social media. Yes, it definitely has its darkside, but it kept me connected to the outside world during what would have otherwise been a very isolating recovery period and also resulted in people who have never even met me in person preparing meals for my family. Just incredible.
> 
> Another quick note about Cas' reflections on his financial situation. Injuries and medical procedures like mine are insanely expensive in the US. I was not exaggerating when Cas said that such an event could leave someone bankrupt and homeless. All told, my medical expenses totaled more than $600k. Cas' experience is mine in this instance. I have incredible insurance (about whose premiums I will never complain again) and all of my leave was covered through the generosity of my colleagues, who gave me tens of thousands of dollars worth of sick leave. That just blows me away and I still can't think about it for very long without crying. Without these, I don't know how my family would have made it through. However, I know that my reality is not the reality of so many people in this country and I don't want it to feel like I'm blowing off the financial impact of Cas' situation. 
> 
> I have no idea if the kind of leave donation program my workplace has exists in the education system in KS. I certainly hope so, but I didn't research it to find out. Please forgive any liberties taken. I just couldn't hit Cas with anything else in this fic. The poor guy has suffered so much and the thought of adding this financial stress on top of it hurt my heart. Thank you for understanding.
> 
> Okay, so on to less serious topics. Thinking of Cas' meal train again, we're getting well and truly into winter now. Tell me, what's your favorite winter meal? Mine is this ["Melt in Your Mouth" Slow Cooker Pot Roast](http://www.joyouslydomestic.com/2014/01/slow-cooker-melt-in-your-mouth-pot-roast.html?m=1). Simple and so yummy.
> 
> Also, any thoughts on what Cas' decision is? 
> 
> For those who watched last night's episode, please feel free to leave non-spoilery thoughts about it in the comments! I watched it today and I think my Dean and Canon!Dean could certainly commiserate after last night. Isn't it just terribly awkward running into old exes? 😉😂
> 
> Next week: Cas and Dean both reveal a couple of big decisions (pinky promise), Thanksgiving comes to our happy little Kansas family, Cas takes a HUGE step forward in his recovery (hint, hint), aaaaand Christmas decorating! Whew, there is A LOT going on next week! Farewell until then, dear friends!


	15. Chapter 15

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Castiel and Dean TALK (a little) and make some changes in their friendship, Friendsgiving comes and goes, and wait, are those twinkle lights?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello everyone!
> 
> Thank you all so much for you love comments on the last chapter (and all the ones before that)! You are truly wonderful and I appreciate each and every one of you!
> 
> I'm sure you're all ready to find out what decision Cas made at the end of the last chapter! If it's any consolation at all, I was far more cruel to my dear beta, the amazing [EllenofOz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz), than I was to you! When I gave my very first draft of this fic to edit, I had only written the first fourteen chapters... And it was a couple of MONTHS before I gave her the next four! She's too good to me! Speaking of Ellen, she and the lovely [TrenchcoatBaby](https://archiveofourown.org/users/TrenchcoatBaby/pseuds/TrenchcoatBaby) are wrapping up their own WIP, [The Closest Thing We Have to Magic](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18519016/chapters/43889914). It's absolutely PHENOMENAL, so if you like idiots falling in love + magic (and really, who doesn't??), check it out!
> 
> Check the end notes for warnings if you think you might need them and then on to the chapter!

** _Sunday, November 18, 2018_ **

Today, 6:23 AM

Cas SENT:

Can you come over after your shift?

We should talk.

Dean groans and runs a hand through his hair, still sticking up at odd angles from pulling off his helmet after their last call. Frowning down at his phone, he considers his options. He hasn’t seen Cas since the Lydia incident of Thursday afternoon. Thankfully, they’d cancelled Sunday family dinner this week since they’ll all be getting together in just a few days for Thanksgiving, but this also means that Cas knows Dean’s free today and doesn’t have a good excuse for why he can’t come over.

He can’t just hide out at Sam’s like he has been the past few days either, pretending to help his brother and almost-sister with wedding planning. Sam had grown suspicious after the third day in a row that Dean volunteered to discuss venues and flower arrangements (picking Gabe for their wedding cake had been a no-brainer once they’d tasted his baking, although Sam had gone a little pale when the Keebler elf had offered to bake him a surprise “groom’s cake,” at no extra charge). Between the two of them, he and Jess had managed to drag the whole story (minus the sexy details) out of Dean over dinner last night.

“So now I don’t really know what to do next,” Dean had explained.

“I think you know what you need to do next, Dean,” Sam shot him an unimpressed look, “and you need to do it soon. We’re supposed to be having Thanksgiving dinner with the Miltons in four days and you and Cas need to get your shit sorted out before then.”

“Put your big girl panties on and _talk_ to him, Winchester,” his used-to-be-favorite-future-sister-in-law cut in.

“I’m sure Rhonda Hurley has a pair you can borrow. Dude, watch the hair!” Sam squawked as he dodged Dean’s incoming lump of mashed potatoes just in time. 

“It’d be such a shame if something got stuck in that rat’s nest and had to be cut out,” Dean threatened in his most menacing big-brother voice, “and I’m gonna talk to him...eventually.”

“Well, I’m pretty sure avoiding him is the exact opposite message you want to be sending here, Dean,” Sam glowered, clearly still pouting about the mashed potato attack. “He’s supposed to be your best friend.”

“But that’s just it. What if I’ve ruined our friendship with this? What if he listened to whatever bullshit story Lydia told him and now he hates me?”

Dean had been ready to talk to Cas, he had. But then Lydia had shown up and God, that whole situation was just so fucked up. Dean wasn’t prepared to be reminded of it and he definitely wasn’t prepared to talk to Cas about it. 

“If he hated you, I doubt he’d be trying this hard to talk to you,” Jess argued wisely, “so man the fuck up, pull up Rhonda’s panties, and talk to your best friend. Tomorrow. Now, who wants dessert?”

Jess is right (she usually is, God help Sam), Dean decides as he clocks out at the station. It’s time to face Cas and figure out their shit. He looks down when he feels his phone buzz again in his hand.

Today, 6:25 AM

Cas SENT:

Please Dean.

Today, 6:26 AM

You SENT:

On my way.

Claire and Gabriel are already gone for the day when Dean gets to Cas’ apartment. He knocks before letting himself in and it feels weird already. Fuck, have they really gone and fucked everything up?

He finds his friend seated at the dining room table, cradling his favorite “Save the Bees” coffee mug, the tiny, cartoon honeybee peeking through the strong fingers wrapped around ceramic. Cas has an affinity for honey, bees, and kitschy coffee mugs, all of which Dean finds goddamn adorable. The combination of the mug and the sleep rumpled English teacher are enough to lodge an ache in the back of Dean’s throat. Whatever happens today, he can’t lose Cas.

He can’t.

Sitting down across from his best friend, he picks up his own coffee mug, already waiting for him. 

“Thanks,” he says softly, nodding to Cas, who takes a sip of his coffee, before returning Dean’s nod.

“Thank you for coming over.”

Dean winces at that and stares down at the bitter, black coffee in his mug. 

“I’m sorry I haven’t been around much. I wanted to, I’m just...”

_A goddamn coward_, his internal monologue finishes, and Dean really can’t argue the point.

“It’s okay. We’ve both had a lot to think about.”

Looking back up, Dean searches Cas’ face, looking for any indication of where this conversation is taking them. But unless he’s doped up on painkillers, which he’s been taking less and less of lately, his friend has a poker face to rival any pro. Dean sees nothing there but careful neutrality. 

He feels like he’s standing in a burning building, waiting to see if the floorboards are going to hold him or collapse under his next step, dropping him into the waiting flames.

“And what are you thinking?” It’s maybe the bravest question he’s ever asked.

Setting down the cutesy bee mug, Cas looks at him steadily. “Dean, I don’t know if I can ever express what your friendship has meant to me these past few months. Pulling me out of that SUV was only the first of many ways you’ve saved me. You’ve been there for me and for Claire and I don’t think I realized what a big part of our lives you’ve become until you weren’t there this past week.”

“I’m sorry about that last part, Cas, I really am.”

“I’m not saying this to make you feel guilty, Dean. I just want you to know that you’re...important to me. To us.”

“You’re important to me too, Cas. More important every day, actually.” Dean bolsters his courage. “I can’t imagine not being a part of you and Claire’s lives and you not being a part of mine.”

Cas opens his mouth, but Dean talks over him. If he doesn’t get this out now, he’s not going to.

“I like you, Cas. I like _being _with you.”

“Dean,” Cas interrupts shakily, “I...I can’t.”

The floorboards tremble under Dean’s feet.

“You can’t _what?” _he whispers.

“Dean, you don’t know what you’re asking for. A relationship with me...it’s not a good idea. I know I’ve had a lot of free time lately,” he smiles weakly, “but normally, it’s not like this. My job and Claire consume all my time. You’re single. Unattached. You deserve someone who can give you as much of themselves as you can give to them.”

“Yeah? Well, I’d rather have you,” Dean answers plainly.

This throws Cas for a second and he stares at Dean, open-mouthed. For just a moment, Dean thinks he’s gotten through, but then Cas shakes himself. “It’s not just that, Dean. I have Claire to think about. Any commitment to me means a commitment to her.”

“You think I don’t know that? You think I wouldn’t be just as committed to Claire?” Dean doesn’t even try to hide the hurt in his voice.

“No, Dean,” Cas soothes in a deep rumble that has no fucking right to feel so comforting right now, “I know you would. That’s just it. Don’t you see? What happens with Claire if you and I don’t work out?”

Dean reels. Could Cas really think that he could just walk away from Claire like that? Is that what Cas would expect, would _want_, if they tried and failed at a relationship?

Cas hesitates a moment before continuing, “Lydia, the other day, she said that you and she were friends...before.”

“Lydia? This is about Lydia? What the hell did she say? Because whatever it is, I can explain.”

Cas holds up a hand to stop him. “You don’t owe me any explanations. What I was getting at is that you and Lydia were friends and the other day she said it was the first time she’d seen you in years. I don’t want that to be us. You’re too important to me and you’re far too important to Claire.”

“That would never happen,” Dean answers immediately.

Cas shakes his head, “You can’t know that. Dean, Claire already lost one father before she ever knew him.” His voice trembles as he adds, “She almost lost me. I can’t be responsible for her losing anyone else.”

“Look Cas, what Bartholomew did to Claire, to _you_, was wrong, but that’s not me. I’ve never left anyone behind in my goddamn _life_,” Dean says, echoing the words he’d said to Cas’ brother what seems like a lifetime ago, “and I damn well don’t plan to start now.”

They stare at one another for a long, tense moment and Dean remembers how Cas looked, alone and terrified in the twisted and battered remains of his SUV. He looks the same way now, his eyes searching Dean’s, pleading for Dean to understand, to help, to _stay_. 

Dean realizes suddenly that it’s not him trapped in the burning building, but Cas, surrounded by a ring of flame, cut off from any attempt at rescue. Dean’s never felt so helpless. How can he save Cas if he can’t even reach him?

Cas is still staring at him, looking desperately for his friend; the friend Dean promised himself he’d be. 

“Dean,” Cas reaches for him, before pausing and dropping his hand, as if he’s not sure he has the right to touch Dean anymore.

Breaking away from the weight of that azure gaze, Dean takes a shaky breath, comes to a decision.

“So, you guys are still coming to Thanksgiving, right?”

Cas blinks, then asks slowly, hesitantly, “Are we still invited?”

“Of course,” Dean meets Cas’ eyes and holds them, “I meant what I said. I can’t imagine my life without you and Claire in it. You guys are family,” he grimaces, “Gabe too, but don’t you dare tell him I said that. Family don’t end with blood, Cas.”

Cas smiles and while it’s still a little wobbly, it’s warm and soft and Dean feels his heart clench at the sight. Fuck, he’s gonna have his work cut out for him if he’s supposed to get over his crush for good this time.

Ten minutes later he heaves a sigh as he leaves Cas’ apartment. He takes a moment to lean against Baby, his head resting against his forearms as he breathes deeply, stealing himself for what he knows he needs to do.

_Man up, Winchester. You’re a big boy. You can handle one little rejection._

He pulls his phone out of his pocket and dials Sam as he slides into the Impala.

“Dean? How’d it go with Cas?”

Ignoring Sam’s question, Dean replies, “Hey, what was the name of that friend of Jess’ you guys have been wanting to set me up with? The yoga instructor. Laura? Leslie?”

“Lisa?”

“Yeah, Lisa. Tell her to go ahead and set it up. You know my schedule.”

Sam pauses.

“Sam? Can Jess set up the date or not?”

“Well, yeah, Dean, but we kind of gave up on you going out with Lisa months ago.” The _when you met Cas_, is implied.

“And?”

“Are you sure? What about Cas?”

“You told me to let Cas decide how he feels about me. Well, he’s made his feelings pretty damn clear.”

“I’m sorry, Dean.”

Dean sighs, “Don’t be sorry, Sammy. We’re still friends, but I can’t be his friend if I’m always hoping for more, you know? That’s not fair to me or him. Maybe getting out there and meeting some new people will help.”

“Maybe,” Sam agrees half-heartedly, “If you’re sure, I’ll have Jess call Lisa. She’s nice. I think you’ll like her.”

“Sounds good. Let me know okay?”

Dean hangs up with his brother and pulls out of Cas’ parking lot, every part of him feeling like he’s going the exact opposite direction of where he needs to be.

* * *

** _Saturday, November 24, 2018_ **

All in all, Thanksgiving hadn’t been nearly as awkward as Dean had expected. He and Cas had hung out a couple of times during the week, like usual, which probably helped. They’d had time to work through the awkward silences and uncomfortable glances as they both pretended not to notice that their Netflix marathons had migrated from Cas’ bed back to the living room sofa. They also pretended not to notice the piles of snacks strategically laid out on the middle sofa cushion between them, a no-man’s-land of carbohydrates and Red Dye #40, meant to disguise the sudden void that now exists where their arms and legs used to press against one another.

The presence of their friends and family on Thanksgiving Day was actually a welcome relief, giving them both a much needed, if lamented, buffer. Dean had given his usual Thanksgiving blessing, declaring himself thankful for friends, family, and food (not necessarily in that order), but it had been Cas who’d stolen the show, making them all tear up a little when he stood at Sam and Jess’ dining room table and looked around the room with tears in his own eyes.

“It’s hard to believe that at this time a year ago, I was preparing for fatherhood alone in Chicago, wondering how I was going to raise a child by myself. I’d never been more terrified, but then my amazing, albeit interfering, big brother told me I was moving to Lawrence, to be with my family. Neither of us could have known at the time that he didn’t just mean him. I am so thankful for each and every one of you. For a time, I thought Claire might not get to know the joy of family dinners, or group Halloween costumes, or ridiculously over-priced themed birthday parties,” he’d said with a wet chuckle echoed by the rest of the table, “but you’ve given her that and more. I recently heard that family doesn’t end with blood. I think I understand that now and I’m honored to be a part of this one.”

It had taken everything in Dean not to leap across the table and kiss Cas breathless. He still feels a warm ache in his chest when he thinks about that moment now: Cas with shining eyes and pink cheeks, his smile slightly embarrassed, but full of warmth, and family, and love. 

His predicament hadn’t become any easier after dinner. As they all sat around Sam and Jess’ living room, sipping coffee and eating four different kinds of pie (okay, _Dean _ate four different kinds of pie. Everyone else chose a single flavor because they lack proper culinary appreciation), Dean played with Claire. Waving her favorite stuffed giraffe in front of her, he tried to tempt her away from the coffee table she was holding onto as she took wobbly steps along its perimeter. 

“I dunno, Cas, I think you might have some competition,” Dean joked. “I think Blondie here might walk before you do.”

“Actually,” Cas said with a small smile, “I wouldn’t be so sure about that. I spoke with my ortho’s office yesterday.” All eyes in the room snapped to Cas as his smile widened, “They’ve scheduled my second surgery for next week. If all goes according to plan, they’ll remove the pelvic fixator and I should be able to start taking steps within a few days after surgery.”

“Oh my God, Cas, that’s great!” Charlie squealed and bounced out of her seat to throw her arms around Cas’ neck. As the rest of their family took turns hugging Cas and congratulating him, Dean watched from across the room, torn between joy, pride, and a bittersweet longing that he can’t quite shake even now, days later. 

Unfortunately, this is neither the time nor place to be thinking about his hopeless crush on his best friend. With an effort, he forces away thoughts of Cas and looks around the restaurant.

A long, gleaming wooden bar spans the width of the broad room, which is littered with heavy tables and chairs that can seat anywhere from two to eight patrons. One long wall is lined with booths, while the opposite hosts a small stage that’s empty now, but promises live music later in the evening. The colors are all rich, warm browns and ambers, giving the tap house an earthen feel that matches their home-brewed ales. Dean approves. It’s a little more upscale than the Roadhouse, his usual watering hole, but it’s definitely a place he can see himself visiting again. He’d let Lisa choose the setting for their first date and he has to admit, he’s impressed.

As if conjured by his thought of her, a gorgeous brunette with deep brown eyes, smooth olive complexion, and a dazzling smile makes her way across the room to Dean. She’s thin, but curvy in all the right places and with her fitted white tank, leather jacket and skin-tight jeans, she’s rock-and-roll on long, lean legs.

_Damn. _Jess chose well. Lisa is _definitely _Dean’s type. 

He resolutely ignores the little voice in the back of his mind telling him her eyes are the wrong color.

“Dean?”

They trade pleasantries as Lisa leans in to give Dean a quick peck on the cheek in greeting before sliding into the seat across from him. He catches a whiff of her perfume as she does, something light and citrusy. It feels fresh, and clean, and so very _different_ to Cas that Dean thinks this date was a good idea. Maybe Lisa is exactly what he needs to get over his crush.

After ordering their meals, the two of them chat about their days, their jobs, the traffic on the way to the restaurant; ordinary, first date small talk that flows easily enough between the two of them. Lisa is friendly and bubbly without being over-bearing or falsely sweet. She laughs easily, but genuinely, and the conversation carries them until their food arrives: a burger and onion rings for Dean and a steak salad for Lisa.

“So, what do you think?” Lisa asks with a smile as Dean moans around his burger.

“Of the place or the company?” Dean teases, pasting on his most charming grin.

“Well, I was referring to the restaurant, but I’d be interested to know the answer to both. Just don’t tell me if you prefer the restaurant to me,” Lisa teases back.

Dean laughs, “Well, I’ll admit, it’s not what I expected.”

“The place or the company?” Lisa smirks like she knows the answer already.

“Both,” Dean admits. “To be honest, this definitely isn’t where I expected a yoga instructor to hang out, but then, you’re not really what I expected a yoga instructor to _be_.”

“Hmmm, let me guess,” Lisa says like she’s been waiting for this moment, “You expected kale smoothies and Enya, not red meat and classic rock?”

“Uhh, kinda, yeah,” Dean admits sheepishly, rubbing a hand across the back of his neck. “Honestly, I’m just relieved you’re not a vegan or something.” He fakes a shudder and Lisa laughs appreciatively.

“God, no! You can pry my bacon out of my cold, dead hands!”

“A woman after my own heart,” Dean chuckles.

“Besides,” Lisa continues, “I’m pretty sure Ben would run away from home if I told him cheeseburgers were off the menu.”

“Ben’s your son?” Dean asks with a smile and interested quirk of his eyebrow. Jess had mentioned that Lisa is a single mom, but she hadn’t told him much more than that.

Lisa nods, “Yep. He’s ten and knows everything, which is fortunate, since as his mom, I clearly know nothing.” She fishes her phone out of her purse and shows Dean a picture of a smiling, dark-haired boy. 

“They all know everything at that age,” Dean agrees sagely. “Doesn’t get much better until…you know what? I’m not sure it ever gets better. Sam’s in his late twenties and he still thinks he knows ten times what I do.”

“So, the kid thing doesn’t bother you then?” Lisa asks with a casual smile that doesn’t quite hide just how important this question is to her.

“What? Nah, kids are great. Actually, I hang out with my buddy, Cas, and his daughter all the time.”

Unlocking his own phone, Dean scrolls through his photos until he reaches the ones of him and Claire, covered in ice cream during their day out last month.

Lisa coos sweetly over Claire’s chubby, chocolate-coated cheeks, “She’s adorable, Dean. And she really seems to adore you.”

“Well, the feeling’s mutual. She’s a great kid.”

“I’m impressed. Not many single guys would volunteer for babysitting duty like that. Well, maybe if they were family,” she amends after a moment.

“Cas and Claire are family,” Dean answers without thinking. 

Lisa smiles warmly, “It’s nice that you have such close friends. You get to be ‘cool Uncle Dean.’”

“Uh, yeah,” Dean agrees with a smile that feels more like a grimace as he tries to ignore the wrong, sour feeling in his stomach at the thought of being Claire’s ‘cool uncle.’

Lisa’s been thumbing through the pictures of Dean and Claire while as they talked. She pauses when she reaches a picture Dean took of Claire and Cas on Halloween. 

“Wow. That must be Cas, I take it?”

“Yep. That’s him. We all dressed as _Alice in Wonderland _characters for Claire’s first Trick-or-Treat.”

“He’s cute. I’ve seen Sam and Jess of course, and now you and Cas. Do all of you only hang around other ridiculously attractive people?” she jokes.

Dean takes his phone back, feeling weirdly uncomfortable with Lisa commenting on Cas’ appearance. She’s right, of course, but Dean can’t be discussing the physical attractiveness of his best friend/unrequited crush/guy-who-just-flat-out-rejected-him with his potential new…Lisa. 

Covering with his cockiest smile he answers, “Obviously. I’m hanging out with you now, aren’t I?”

“Smooth, Winchester,” the brunette laughs loudly, blushing and looking down at her drink when Dean caps it off with a flirty wink. At least his absurd crush hasn’t destroyed his ability to flirt with attractive women.

The conversation continues to flow as they finish their drinks and talk about their favorite books, movies, and TV shows. Lisa says she hasn’t read any Vonnegut since high school and Dean tells her how shocked he’d been when Cas had told him something similar, and the guy’s an English teacher for Christ’s sake! Her favorite movie is _Bridget Jones’s Diary_, which makes Dean laugh as he recounts his and Cas’ _Indiana Jones_ movie marathon and Cas’ threat to make him watch Bridget Jones instead. When Lisa’s smile falters a bit at that, Dean assures her that he has a secret soft spot for rom-coms. He’s halfway through explaining his and Cas’ ongoing debate over which offers a better depiction of the inanities of office work, _The Office _or _Office Space _(which Dean finds hilarious, since neither of them have any actual experience working in an office), when Lisa interrupts him.

“You and Cas spend a lot of time together, huh?”

“Oh, uh, yeah, guess so,” Dean stumbles over his words and rubs a hand along the back of his neck as he fights down a blush. “I guess I should get out more,” he jokes with an awkward chuckle. 

“Well, maybe I can help with that,” Lisa offers soothingly. 

“I think I’d like that,” Dean returns her easy smile as he reaches for the check. 

He places a hand on the small of Lisa’s back as he walks her to her car, smiling as she subtly moves closer. It feels nice to be with someone like this, to be _wanted _by someone like this. Dean thinks he could get used to it.

And if he misses the sharp scrape of stubble along his cheek as he kisses her goodnight, well, he’s sure he’ll get used to that too.

* * *

** _Wednesday, December 5, 2018_ **

“Good morning, Castiel. How are you feeling this morning?” Dr. Hawkins towers over Castiel’s bed in the pre-op holding area. The slim man is every bit as tall as Sam Winchester, and Castiel wonders for a moment how he manages operating on his patients without killing his back. Or do they adjust the operating table to his height? If so, he feels sorry for the man’s scrub nurse. Do they have step stools for everyone else in the OR?

“I’m as good as I can be given that it’s not even six o’clock in the morning and I couldn’t have any coffee,” Castiel grouses, trying to clear his head of his rambling, sleep-deprived thoughts. They’d had to be at the hospital by five, which meant being up at 3:30 in order to get ready and greet a groggy Charlie as she collapsed into Gabe’s recently vacated spot on the sofa for another hour or so of sleep before dropping Claire off at daycare on her way to school.

Fortunately, Dr. Hawkins only grins, “Sorry about that, but at least you didn’t have to fast all day before an afternoon surgery. Trust me, earlier is better. This should be a really quick procedure. Once we get you under, I expect to be in and out in less than an hour. Next thing you know, you’ll be waking up in post-op. Once there, you’ll have to wait about an hour to make sure you’ve recovered from the effects of anesthesia, then you’ll be free to go and I’ll see you in a couple of weeks for your next follow-up.”

“But I can start walking before then, right?” Castiel asks nervously. He’d tried taking a few steps with a walker between their conversation last Wednesday and today, at Dr. Hawkins suggestion, but had found it far too painful.

Nodding, Dr. Hawkins confirms, “Absolutely. You can weight bear as tolerated after this. Once that INFIX is out, walking should be much more comfortable. As soon as you’re up and moving around, you can also schedule your outpatient physical therapy. Just give the office a call once you’ve selected a therapy center and they’ll fax over your orders.”

Dr. Hawkins has barely made his exit before a tech and surgical nurse come in and begin wheeling Castiel’s bed toward the operating theater. He’s not as nervous as he was before his first surgery, when he was still trying to process the extent of his injuries and the knowledge that it would be _months_ before he could walk again, but he still feels his heartrate picking up speed as they near the OR doors. For a moment, he wishes Dean were here, the firefighter’s steady presence somehow simultaneously calming and electrifying. At best, Castiel knows Dean’s touch would soothe his frazzled nerves. At worst, well, it would at least make him nervous in a very different kind of way.

_Stop it_, he chides himself. He needs to stop thinking of Dean in that way. He’d felt confident in his decision to keep he and Dean’s friendship platonic a couple of weeks ago, convinced that it was for the best and that his feelings for the handsome firefighter would settle with time. 

It _is _for the best, he reminds himself now and he believes that, he really does. He’d meant every word that he’d told Dean. He’d rather have Dean in his life as a friend than risk losing the man altogether. Besides, Castiel has never even managed to maintain a long-term _friendship_ with another person. How could he even entertain the possibility that a _relationship_ with Dean would last? No, this way is definitely better.

Unfortunately, that doesn’t stop him from picturing bottle green eyes and cupid’s bow lips as he counts backwards from one hundred and surrenders to the gentle lull of anesthesia.

* * *

** _Sunday, December 9, 2018_ **

Castiel grins as he hears the apartment door open and close, followed by Dean’s usual greeting. “Lucy, I’m home!”

He’s been looking forward to Dean coming over to help them decorate for Christmas since his friend offered when they spoke on the phone after Castiel’s surgery on Wednesday. Dean had called to check in, apologizing for not being able to come over before Sunday afternoon. Dean’s been busy in the evenings the past few weeks, not to mention exhausted. Winter has settled itself in Lawrence and they’ve started to have brief snowfalls already, not much accumulation, but enough to make the roads slick, increasing the number of traffic accidents substantially. 

He’s missed his friend this week, though he and Claire have been using the time to practice a “surprise” for Dean.

“Are you ready, baby girl?” he whispers to Claire, who squirms in his lap, eager to get to her “Dee.”

“Just a second,” Castiel murmurs, smiling as Claire leans into the kiss he plants on her temple.

Dean turns the corner, lighting up at the sight of Castiel and Claire, seated together on the sofa. Castiel ignores the way his heart lurches at that.

“Hey, guys. What’s going on?” Dean asks, starting to walk towards them, then pausing in confusion as Castiel holds up a hand.

“Go get Dee, Claire,” he says, standing the baby, _toddler,_ on the floor and pointing her toward Dean.

“Dee!” Claire squeals, taking one, two, three, _four_ unsteady steps toward Dean before collapsing onto her bottom and quickly crawling the rest of the way across the living room.

Dean beams as he scoops Claire up and covers her in celebratory kisses.

“You walked! Claire, you can walk!” Claire giggles as Dean spins her around. “When did this happen?” he asks Castiel, still grinning ear-to-ear.

Castiel grins back, his heart warm and full at the sight of two of the most important people in his life looking so joyful together. “Friday, but this was the furthest I’ve seen her get without falling.”

“Well, sure. That’s ‘cause all the ladies run to me,” Dean teases with a smirk and wink. “Looks like I was right, though. She’s got you beat, man.”

“Dow,” Claire demands, squirming in Dean’s arms. He chuckles before setting her down and watching her crawl off toward her blocks.

“Not quite,” Castiel says quietly, taking advantage of Dean’s distraction with Claire and using the opportunity to pull out the walker he’d stashed beside the couch, out of sight of the doorway. Planting one hand on the edge of the sofa and gripping the walker with the other, Castiel heaves himself to his feet with a soft grunt. Dean looks up at the noise and freezes, eyes wide and locked on Castiel.

With a slightly shaky smile, Castiel takes his own steps toward his best friend: one, two, three, four. 

“I beat her by a day,” Castiel says, chuckling at Dean’s stunned expression. He feels a funny tightening in his chest as his friend’s eyes fill with tears, but he doesn’t have time to consider what it might mean. In two strides, Dean closes the space between them, pulling Castiel into a firm, but gentle hug over top of his walker. After a moment’s hesitation, he raises his arms and wraps them around Dean’s waist in return, eyes closing as he relaxes into Dean’s embrace, trying not to think about how _good_ it feels to be in the other man’s arms again.

“A goddamn miracle,” Dean whispers, his breath tickling Castiel’s ear. Castiel flushes, mind suddenly filled with memories of the _last_ time Dean had called him that.

After a time that feels like both a lifetime and a single breath, they part and Castiel thinks he’s not the only one feeling a bit reluctant to do so. He’s grateful for it a moment later though, when they both startle at a squeal from the entryway. 

“O-M-G, you’re _walking!_ It’s a Christmas miracle!”

“Jesus, Charlie! He’s gonna be falling here in a minute if you keep scarin’ the hell out of us like that! Inside voice!”

“Oops, sorry!” The redhead shrugs sheepishly before dropping the three large shopping bags she’d carried in and bouncing over to throw her arms around Castiel. 

Chuckling, Castiel squeezes the petite ginger, “It’s good to have to lean down to hug you again.”

“Not gonna lie, it was nice to not be the shortest one in the room for a change. Well, excepting those under the age of Hogwarts-house sorting, at least,” she acknowledges with a nod at Claire. “But,” she adds at Castiel’s mock-pout, “I’ll take a Christmas miracle and a healthy best friend over a height advantage any day.”

Rolling his eyes, Castiel argues, “One: it’s not actually Christmas yet. Two: it’s more modern medicine than miracle.” 

“Just because you can explain how it happened, doesn’t mean it’s not a miracle,” Charlie argues stubbornly. 

“But, that’s exactly what it means.” Tilting his head in confusion, Castiel looks to Dean for help, who only chuckles and shakes his head.

“You know what I think,” his friend answers quietly, eyes sparkling.

Ignoring the blush he knows is staining his cheeks again, Castiel suggests they get started decorating the artificial Christmas tree that Gabriel had assembled in the corner of the living room the day prior. He’s a little disappointed that his brother can’t be here for their decorating party, but between Castiel’s surgery and recovery this week, Gabriel had missed quite a bit of time at the bakery. He spent all day yesterday there working on the books and making sure things would continue to run smoothly for the next week. Today, he’s out Christmas shopping with Kali. The two have been hot and heavy since Halloween and while Castiel will never stop being grateful for the way Gabriel had put his life on hold when he and Claire needed him, he’s glad to see his brother finding happiness with someone of his own. Along with his blush, he ignores that heavy feeling in the pit of his stomach that feels suspiciously like envy.

He’s quickly distracted though, by the Christmas decorations Charlie pulls out of the shopping bags in front of her. After setting Castiel’s TV to a Christmas music channel, she and Dean string hundreds of tiny, multi-colored twinkle lights over the tree’s branches while Castiel plays with Claire and grins as he watches them bicker. Charlie gripes at Dean for being too slow to feed her more lights, while Dean argues that she’s layering too many lights on each branch. 

Then Charlie begins fishing out the Christmas tree ornaments. Because it’s Charlie, Christmas bulbs and baubles in every color of the rainbow emerge from the shopping bags. There are also some ornaments that Castiel can tell his friend hand-picked for him: a colorful stack of tiny books, the Hogwarts Sorting Hat, a glass circle that says, “Shakespeare rocks,” a cupcake that Castiel is sure is meant for Gabe, and a set of six crocheted bees that look suspiciously homemade all make Castiel smile softly. It’s the ceramic TARDIS that is clearly meant to symbolize his friendship with Charlie and the “Baby’s First Christmas” ornament inscribed with Claire’s name that bring tears to his eyes, though. 

Looking up to thank his friend, Castiel finds her holding out a final ornament. The fragile glass firefighter’s helmet glints red and gold under the light from the lamp on the end table, almost seeming to glow. 

Dean’s eyes widen as they land on the ornament and Charlie explains, “I thought you should have an ornament for all of the important people and relationships in your life since you’ve moved to Lawrence.”

“Thank you, Charlie. They’re perfect.” Handing the firefighter’s hat to Dean, he says, “I think you should put this one on the tree.”

Charlie lights up, “It’ll be a tradition! Every year, we’ll all come over and put our own ornament on Cas’ Christmas tree!” Grinning happily, she snatches up the TARDIS ornament and makes a show of placing it on the tree, standing on her tiptoes to make sure she hangs the fragile glass far out of Claire’s reach. Smiling, Dean takes the proffered ornament and hangs it front and center on the tree, where it can’t possibly be missed.

“Sounds like a plan, Red,” he says, smiling warmly at Castiel.

Castiel must be the Grinch, because his heart grows three sizes at least at the thought of his friends, of _Dean_, still being a part of his and Claire’s lives a year from now; meeting in his home, drinking eggnog and hot chocolate as they decorate while Christmas music plays in the background. Thinking of hot chocolate spurs Castiel into action and as Charlie and Dean hang the last few ornaments on the tree and set up the baby fence Gabriel had bought to protect their hard work from the ever-curious and increasingly mobile new toddler in the house, he makes his way into the kitchen and prepares a panful of homemade hot cocoa on the stove. Dean has to carry the mugs into the living room, of course, but being able to at least make the cocoa has made Castiel feel useful and accomplished in a way he hadn’t even realized he’s been missing these past few months.

Dean sits next to him on the couch and pulls Claire into his lap, handing her the sippy cup of lukewarm cocoa Castiel had made for her. Her entire face lights up in wonder at the first taste, causing the adults in the room to laugh.

“Hey, get your cocoa and lean in for a picture, you guys,” Charlie says eagerly, opening the photo app on her phone. Dean slides over until he’s pressed up against Castiel, situating Claire between them on their laps and slinging one arm around Castiel’s shoulders as he brandishes his steaming mug of cocoa in the other. Castiel swallows and holds his cocoa similarly, wrapping his free arm around Claire and trying to ignore the way it rests on Dean’s thigh. 

They smile for the picture and when Charlie holds it up for them to see afterward, Castiel feels a pang of longing. They look _good _together, smiling around three cups of hot cocoa. Like a family. 

Bounding back over to her shopping bags, Charlie declares, “Okay, cocoa break is over! Time to finish decorating!”

“What else is there?” Castiel asks with a note of confusion in his voice. He’d really only been planning on the tree.

“Let’s see,” Charlie says, digging through the biggest bag and sticking her entire head inside, “we’ve got garland, tinsel, more lights, aaaaaand mistletoe!” She emerges from the bag, holding up a ball of artificial mistletoe with a mischievous look on her face.

“Mistletoe?” Castiel raises an eyebrow. “I’m not sure what good that’s going to be here.”

“Think fast, Winchester,” Charlie shouts, chucking the plastic plant at Dean, who nearly drops his now-empty cocoa mug, but manages to catch it.

“Hah!” says Charlie triumphantly. “Looks like you and Cas are under the mistletoe! You know what that means.” Making kissy sounds, their completely unsubtle friend waggles her eyebrows at them expectantly. Castiel instantly regrets telling her what had transpired between him and Dean last month. He hadn’t intended to, but the tiny redhead possesses hawk-like observational skills and noticed the lingering tension between them at Thanksgiving dinner. She’d grilled Castiel relentlessly as they sat in his apartment the next day, online Black Friday shopping since Christmas shopping in the stores obviously wasn’t going to happen for him this year. Charlie had argued that Christmas shopping is always more fun with a buddy, even the online kind. He later suspected she had just wanted to corner him about Dean.

“Technically, Dean’s _holding_ the mistletoe. We aren’t actually underneath it.” Castiel points out desperately. He can’t kiss Dean. They’ve worked so hard to reestablish the boundaries of their friendship. 

“_Technically_, he’s holding it over your legs, so half of you is underneath it.” Charlie counters, crossing her arms.

Dean laughs, “Well, in that case, you get _half_ a kiss.” Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise as Dean wraps an arm back around his shoulders and tugs him in for a loud kiss on the cheek.

“That wasn’t so bad, was it?” Charlie asks innocently, pretending she can’t see Cas’ glare. 

“Maybe it was that bad,” Dean jokes, nudging Cas with his elbow. 

“Best cheek kiss of my life,” Castiel responds drily. 

He wishes he were lying.

Claire toddles back over to them from where she’d crawled to investigate the remains of some tinsel. Reaching Castiel, she stumbles against his knees and takes a moment to steady herself before reaching for the mistletoe in Dean’s hand. The firefighter just smiles and hauls Claire back up onto their laps, the way she had been for their photo earlier.

He hands her the mistletoe and says, “Look, you’re under the mistletoe now Claire-Bear. You got a kiss for Da?” He points to Castiel. 

Flashing her gummy baby grin, his baby declares, “Da!” She reaches for Castiel, who scoops her into his arms, puckering his lips as she lays a slobbery, open-mouthed, “kiss” on them.

“Mmm-mah,” she says loudly, mimicking the kissing sound. 

Castiel chuckles, “Thank you, sweet girl. I love you too.”

Claire squirms in his embrace until he loosens his arms enough for her to turn around. Facing, Dean, she reaches out a chubby hand, demanding, “Dee! Mmm-mah!”

“Me?” Dean asks with raised eyebrows, pointing at himself.

At Claire’s emphatic nod, Dean leans in to receive his own slobbery baby kiss and Castiel’s heart is now officially a puddle somewhere around his navel.

It’s another couple of hours before Dean and Charlie prepare to leave. Gabriel has just arrived home and will be needing his sofa bed, Claire is already in her bed, and Castiel is looking forward to his own. Dr. Hawkins was right. The pain has decreased dramatically since his second surgery. In fact, he hasn’t had to take one of his oxycodone tablets since Thursday, managing his remaining pain just fine with extra-strength Tylenol. After all the activity of today, though, he’s still sore and fatigued, even if it isn’t debilitating the way it would have been a few weeks ago.

He stands with his walker and prepares to make the trek to his room when Charlie interrupts him, “Hey, aren’t you gonna walk us out, you know, since you can actually do that now?”

“Oh, yes, I guess I can,” Castiel says before gesturing toward the door. “After you.”

“You don’t have to do that Cas,” Dean says, shooting Charlie a disgruntled look.

“It’s okay, Dean. I was getting up to start getting ready for bed anyway.”

Dean and Charlie call a goodbye out to Gabe and the three make their way to the door as Charlie hooks an arm around each of them, managing something as close to a group hug as she can with Castiel’s walker in the way, before pulling back and beaming at them.

“Peace on Earth and goodwill to all, bitches,” she chirps, flashing them a peace sign before slipping out of the apartment and closing the door behind her without waiting for Dean.

“Rude,” Dean says with a confused chuckle, pausing without saying anything when his cellphone buzzes in his hand.

He looks down at the incoming message before turning the phone so Castiel can see it too, a confused expression on his face.

Today, 9:42 PM

Her Highness, Queen Charlie of Moondor SENT: 

Look up.

As one, they look toward the ceiling. Castiel rolls his eyes and snorts when he sees the ball of mistletoe, hanging unobtrusively near the ceiling.

Dean shakes his head, “She must have hung it there when we were putting Claire to bed. Little sneak.”

“She’s a terror when she sets her mind on something,” Castiel agrees.

He looks back at Dean, only to find Dean’s eyes already on him. His green eyes glow in the dim light coming from the twinkle lights behind them and Castiel’s breath catches in his throat. 

“I, um, I guess I should go. Let you get to bed,” Dean murmurs.

He doesn’t go.

“Thank you for today, Dean. I can’t tell you what it meant to me.”

“Anytime, Cas,” Dean says softly and then they’re just standing there, staring again. The sound of Gabe banging around in the kitchen brings them back to themselves with a jolt.

Dean moves in to give Cas a hug goodbye and Cas melts into it, hearing Dean’s words in his head: _a goddamn miracle._

When Dean pulls back, he’s even closer and Castiel tries to meet his eyes, but somehow his gaze doesn’t make it past the other man’s lips. The dim lighting casts highlights and shadows across those full lips, exaggerating their cupid’s bow shape.

“Cas,” Dean murmurs and Castiel has the sudden urge to taste his name on those lips.

He leans forward slightly, swaying toward Dean without conscious thought.

“I’m seeing someone,” Dean says abruptly.

Castiel freezes, ice water flooding his veins. He straightens and his eyes snap to Dean’s, who’s stepped back as far as he can in the narrow entryway.

“What?” Castiel asks, before shaking his head and landing on a much more pertinent question, “For how long?”

“Since, uh, right after Thanksgiving. Her name is Lisa. She’s a friend of Jess.”

“You didn’t tell me.” Castiel can’t keep the hurt out of his voice.

“I was going to. It was just…new. I didn’t know if it was gonna go anywhere.”

“Oh,” Castiel steels himself for his next question, “And is it? Going somewhere?”

“Um, yeah. Or at least, I think it might be. We’ve hung out quite a bit in the past couple weeks. We have a lot in common.”

“Oh,” Castiel says again, swallowing. He feels a lurching feeling in his stomach as he realizes what’s been keeping Dean so busy lately.

“Well, congratulations,” Castiel says awkwardly, “I hope it works out.” 

Because he’s clearly a masochist, he adds, “You should bring her to Claire’s birthday party in a couple weeks.”

Dean looks surprised, but he smiles, “Yeah? Sure, Cas. I’ll do that. I’ll, um, see you this week, right? We still on to hang out Tuesday?”

“Of course, Dean,” Castiel forces a smile for his friend. 

They say their goodnights and Castiel makes his way back to the living room, lowering himself wearily onto the couch, all thoughts of sleeping having fled in light of this revelation.

Gabriel walks in, an uncharacteristically stoic look on his face that tells Castiel he heard every bit of he and Dean’s conversation. To his brother’s great credit, he doesn’t say a word, pressing a new mug of cocoa into Castiel’s hands before sitting next to him on the sofa and turning on the TV. They sip their cocoa in silence and Castiel lets the sounds of, “It’s a Wonderful Life,” wash over him as he stares at the gently twirling fireman’s hat where it hangs on the Christmas tree, glinting merrily in the reflected glow of the twinkle lights.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: Angst (I did warn you, sorry!), surgery/medical stuff 
> 
> Soooo, how about that local sports team?
> 
> I know, I know, this chapter was quite the emotional roller coaster. Please do remember, I promise to make it all better... eventually. Also, please hold all rotten tomatoes and other projectile produce long enough for me to address one thing. I just want to make it clear that there will be NO infidelity of any kind in this fic. That is _definitely_ something I would have tagged for an not even something I can really imagine myself writing Cas or Dean doing. Yes, Dean is dating Lisa while he still has feelings for Cas, but A) that's a real life thing that happens quite frequently, B) dating does not equal "relationship" and C) he's actually pretty up front with her about it, which you'll soon see. I just don't want anyone to worry that this is headed in that direction. It's not.
> 
> So, now _that's_ out the way, did you know that it's National Cocoa Day? Seems pretty fitting for this chapter! 😂  
On that note, do you have a favorite hot cocoa recipe? A favorite box mix? Do you make it from scratch? And what's your topping preference, marshmallows or whipped cream? Personally, I prefer cocoa made from scratch with whipped cream and cinnamon sprinkled on top! 
> 
> _Next week: Two's a party, but three's a crowd._


	16. Chapter 16

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dean spends some quality time with a special someone.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello friends!
> 
> A very Happy Hanukkah to everyone celebrating this year! 💙💙💙💙💙💙💙💙
> 
> Thank you for all of your lovely comments over the past week! I am constantly amazed by your kindness. I had intended to post this chapter last night, but after attending both my and my husband's office Christmas parties in the same day, I was exhausted. After the third time I fell asleep during my final read-through, I decided I'd better wait until morning. 
> 
> Also, all of your cocoa recipes inspired me so much, guess what I took as my contribution to the Christmas party yesterday? Here's the recipe I used for [Creamy Crock Pot Hot Chocolate](https://wishesndishes.com/creamy-crock-pot-hot-chocolate/), if you're interested! In case you're wondering, it mixes well with a little Kahlua. 😂
> 
> Speaking of work Christmas parties, it's time to get on with the chapter!

** _Monday, December 17, 2018_ **

“Hey, you.” Dean smiles as he feels slim arms wrap around him from behind. 

“Morning, Lis,” he says warmly, turning around to draw the athletic brunette into a gentle kiss. “I was just getting ready to bring you some coffee.”

“You fight fires _and_ get up first to make coffee? You really are a hero.” Lisa’s sunny smile turns coy as she adds, “I’m glad you were able to stay last night.”

“Me too,” Dean says, tightening the arm still wrapped around her waist. “Sorry we couldn’t get together Friday or Saturday. I know your free time is pretty limited.” So far, they’ve been squeezing in time together when Ben is either at school or spending time with his dad, which combined with Dean’s work schedule makes planning dates tricky. 

“It’s okay, Dean,” Lisa assures him. “You don’t have to apologize for your job. I get it.”

“That’s because you’re awesome,” Dean says sincerely. And she is. Lisa is smart, funny, and sweet—not to mention absolutely gorgeous and, as Dean learned last night, _very_ bendy. She’s also strong-willed and not afraid to stand her ground, something Dean definitely respects in a person and a partner. 

“If I’m so awesome, what are the odds of me convincing you to stick around here today? I don’t have any classes until late this afternoon.” She sing-songs the last few words as she walks suggestive fingers up Dean’s sternum.

Grimacing, he drops his arm from Lisa’s waist, giving her an apologetic look as he says, “I can stay for bit, but I’m taking Cas to his physical therapy appointment at eleven and I should probably go home and shower first.”

Lisa pouts. “Cas again, huh? You guys really do spend a lot of time together.”

“Well yeah,” Dean says, forehead wrinkling as he frowns. “He’s my best friend. Plus, I told you about his accident. He still can’t drive, so unless people visit he’s stuck in that apartment by himself all day long.”

“He has his brother though, right?”

“Yeah, but Gabe’s got his own life and responsibilities too. Takes a village sometimes, Lis. Besides, Cas and Claire are family.”

“Sorry,” Lisa says, looking like she means it. “I don’t mean to complain. I just hate that we’re always having to say goodbye, either because you have to pick up Cas or Claire or because I have to pick up Ben. I know they’re important to you.”

At her apology, Dean puts his hands on her waist and pulls her back towards him. 

“They are,” he confirms, “which is why I’m hoping you’ll come to Claire’s birthday in a couple weeks and meet them.”

“Really?” Lisa’s eyes light up at that and Dean smiles.

“Yeah. I mean, you already know Sam and Jess, but Cas, Claire, Charlie, even Gabe,” Lisa chuckles, having heard Dean complain about Cas’ obnoxious older brother, “they’re my family too and they want to meet you. It was Cas’ idea, actually.”

Lisa beams. “I’d love to meet them, Dean. Actually, I’m really glad you brought this up, because I’ve been thinking and, if you’re okay with it, I think I’m ready for you to meet Ben.” 

Lisa looks both hopeful and nervous and Dean offers her his most reassuring smile. 

“Of course, I wanna meet Ben, but are you sure? You don’t have to introduce me to Ben just because you’re meeting my family. I get it if you want to wait.” Dean hasn’t dated a lot of single parents, but he knows meeting the kid is a Big Step and he and Lisa haven’t even been dating a month yet. 

“Look, I know it seems a little fast and I know you’re still getting over your unrequited thing.” Dean hadn’t had much to contribute when they’d had the “past relationships” conversation on their third date, but he’d found himself admitting that there’d been someone recently he’d seen a possible future with, only to find out they weren’t interested in a relationship. He’d downplayed it as much as he could, not wanting Lisa to think she was some kind of rebound, but she’d seen through his bullshit pretty quickly. 

Honestly, it had felt good to talk to someone about Cas who didn’t look at him with pitying puppy dog eyes. Of course, Cas’ name was the one part he’d omitted from his confession. It’s not that Dean thinks he has anything to hide. He and Lisa aren’t exclusive yet, but even so, he’s always been one to stick to a single dance partner. He just hadn’t wanted Lisa to make any snap judgements about his best friend and he couldn’t see a way to explain why things didn’t work out between him and Cas that didn’t paint Cas in a negative light. At least, not without explaining Cas’ relationship history, and that’s not his story to tell. So, he just never specified who his “unrequited thing” was. Dean couldn’t imagine being with someone that didn’t get along with his family and like he told Lisa just a few minutes ago, Cas is his family. 

For her part, Lisa had been surprisingly understanding. 

“I have an ex-husband and a ten-year-old, Dean. I get relationship baggage. I don’t expect you to come into this with an empty slate.”She’d then admitted that she was still getting over Ben’s dad in a lot of ways, even though they’d separated years ago. They’d toasted to _“moving on_—_together” _and had agreed to take things slow and keep things casual for now.

Dean drags his wandering mind back to Lisa’s kitchen as she continues, “Ben’s my life. I have to know things are going to work out with you and him before I can know if they’re going to work out for you and me.”

Huh. Dean supposes that makes a certain amount of sense. 

“In that case, yes. I’d love to meet Ben.” 

“Great!” Lisa practically glows as she twines her arms around his neck. “How about you come over for dinner tomorrow night?”

“Sounds perfect. I’ll come right over after I drop Claire off from daycare.”

Lisa’s brilliant smile falters for a half-second. Before Dean can comment though, it’s replaced by one that’s just as wide, but a lot more predatory.

“Good. Now _that’s _settled, how much time did you say you have before you have to go pick-up Cas?”

Dean smirks down at her. “Enough time for you to show me some more of those yoga moves you’ve got.”

“I never would have guessed you’d be so into yoga, Dean,” she teases playfully.

“What can I say? You’re a helluva teacher.” 

Lisa squeals as Dean slides his hands down to her thighs before suddenly tightening his grip and hoisting her into the air. She wraps limber legs around his waist and Dean spends the next ninety minutes getting lost in soft curves and smooth skin. 

* * *

“Hey, man. Sorry again for being so late.”

Dean’s blushing and avoiding his eyes in a way that Castiel would once have found adorable, but now just makes his stomach flop uncomfortably. His friend had shown up nearly twenty minutes late to pick him up for his physical therapy appointment, looking freshly showered and bashfully chipper.

He knows Dean didn’t work last night, so he’s not just coming off a shift. It doesn’t take a psychic to guess where Dean spent his night.

“It’s fine,” Castiel assures and, because he’s clearly a masochist, adds, “How is Lisa?”

Dean’s blush intensifies and he doesn’t take his eyes off the road in front of them as he drives them to the physical therapy center. 

“She’s good. Really good, actually. Things are…good,” he finishes lamely, blushing yet again. 

Castiel looks out the passenger window, pretending to be captivated by the flat, gray Lawrence skyline.

“That’s good.” For just a moment, he _almost_ wishes to be in another car accident. At least it would mean an end to this God-awful conversation.

Dean clears his throat.

“Speaking of Lis, she can come to Claire’s party.”

“That’s great,” Castiel answers flatly, steadfastly ignoring the way his heart clenches at hearing that nickname—_Lis_, so similar to Dean’s shortened version of his own name—roll off his friend’s tongue so familiarly. “I look forward to meeting her.”

“She’ll probably have to bring her son, if that’s okay?”

Castiel feels his eyebrows make a run for his hairline.

“Oh? I didn’t know Lisa had a son.”

“Yeah, Ben,” Dean answers warmly. “He’s ten. I’m actually meeting him tomorrow night.”

It’s a long, awkward moment of silence before Castiel’s brain can make his mouth spit out his next words.

“Wow. That’s…a big step.”

Words he instantly regrets when he sees the way Dean’s face falls.

“Well, yeah, I guess, but Lisa wants me to meet him. What, you don’t think I’m up for it?” He sounds defensive and Castiel flinches.

“No, I mean, yes. Of course, I think you’re ‘up for it,’ Dean. You’re great with kids. I was just surprised is all. And of course Ben is welcome at Claire’s party.” 

“Good,” Dean says with a jerky nod, adding, “Speaking of parties, you’re still coming to Bobby’s Christmas party at the station, right?”

Surprised, Castiel pauses before answering cautiously, “Are you sure you still want me to come? It’s okay if you’d rather bring Lisa.”

“Of course I still want you to come, Cas. You said you wanted a chance to meet the guys at the station and say thanks to the rest of crew from your accident scene. This’ll be the perfect opportunity to kill two birds with one stone. Plus, you still haven’t met Bobby.”

“Well yes, I do, but we can do that anytime. A Christmas party is probably something you should take your significant other to.” 

Dean shifts awkwardly.

“This Christmas party, it’s not just a work thing, you know? It’s a family thing. Bobby, Benny, Victor, everyone at the station…they’re family. Lisa’s great, but we’ve only been dating a few weeks. We’re not at the spending-holidays-with-one-another’s-families stage yet. Besides, she and Ben have their own traditions for Christmas Eve.”

“As long as you’re sure.”

Dean’s forehead wrinkles as he frowns at Castiel.

“Why wouldn’t I be sure?”

“I just don’t want you to feel obligated, that’s all,” Castiel attempts to explain, poorly if the sudden, irritated expression on Dean’s face is any indicator.

“Obligated? Since when am I ‘obligated’ to hang out with my best friend? Is that what you think this is? What, you think I was just trying to get in your pants and now that you’ve shot me down, I’m only sticking around out of guilt or something?”

That’s pretty much exactly what Castiel has been worried about since he found out Dean is dating Lisa, yes.

“I… what? No. Of course, I don’t think that. I just…”

“Don’t want me to feel ‘obligated’ to spend time with you now that I know there’s no chance at us being anything other than friends. Glad to know you think so highly of me, Cas.”

Castiel looks down at his hands, ashamed. Of course, he knows Dean wouldn’t do that. 

_He’s not Bart._

“I do though,” he says quietly.

Dean’s forehead scrunches in confusion again.

“Do what?”

“Think highly of you.”

Dean’s blush is suddenly adorable again. The next few minutes pass in silence as they both stare out the windshield.

“The feeling’s mutual, you know. Even if you are a pain in the ass sometimes. Not to mention a goddamn sap.”

Castiel snorts.

“Still sure you want me to come to that party?”

“Shuddup.”

“Yes, Dean.”

* * *

** _Monday, December 24, 2018_ **

Cas fidgets nervously in the front seat of the Impala. Shutting off the engine, Dean reaches over and squeezes his friend’s forearm.

“You alright?” 

Attempting a smile that ends up more like a grimace, Cas answers, “I’m fine. Just a little nervous. It’s been a while since I’ve been around so many new people.”

Dean frowns. 

“Why didn’t you say anything before now? You didn’t have to come, Cas. You’re not _obligated, _you know,” Dean says, softening his words with a smirk.

Cas rolls his eyes and Dean’s smirk broadens into a grin. An annoyed Cas isn’t a nervous Cas. Dean’s good at handling annoyed people, since he’s pretty annoying most of the time. Hell, Sam practically lives in a constant state of Dean-related annoyance.

“I can’t stay in my apartment forever, Dean. Besides, I really do want to meet your coworkers.”

“You’re gonna do great, Cas. Besides, Sam and Jess will be here, so you’ll at least know a few people.”

Cas nods.

“And you’re sure I’m not overdressed?” he asks and whoa, is _that_ ever a loaded question.

Dean clears his throat.

“Not at all. You look great, Cas.”

_Understatement_.

Cas looks fucking _edible_. Dean had found Cas good-looking enough in t-shirts, flannel pants, and at least two-days-worth of scruff. He’d nearly swallowed his tongue when the attractive bastard walked out of his bedroom cleanly shaven and wearing a navy blue sweater that makes his eyes shine like sapphires or some other overly poetic bullshit Dean would never say out loud, over top a white Oxford and a pair of beige dress slacks Cas proudly boasted were, “real pants.”

The asshole looks like he just walked out of every hot-for-teacher fantasy Dean never knew he always had. 

With no small effort, Dean forces those _very_ inappropriate thoughts to the side, before they have a chance to reawaken the memories of he and Cas’ one-and-only time together. Dean’s been working really goddamn hard to suppress those memories and he does _not_ want to experience a relapse while surrounded by his coworkers and family, thank-you-very-much.

Getting over _feelings_ for someone, Dean gets. He's sure his crush on Cas will dissipate with time, but how the hell does one "get over" being physically attracted to someone? Especially when that someone ticks off every goddamn box on Dean's "yes, please" list? 

“Thank you, Dean. You look nice as well.” 

“Of course, I do,” Dean counters with a cocky wink, turning and opening the car door before Cas can see his cheeks redden. 

He smiles as he saunters around the front of the Impala, _feeling_ Cas’ fond eyeroll through windshield more than seeing it. 

Opening the passenger side door, his cocky smile falters as he watches his friend struggle to hoist himself up out of Baby’s low seats, taking a moment to steady himself against the car door after doing so. 

“Are you sure we shouldn’t have brought your walker?” Dean asks, undeterred by the indignant look Cas sends his way.

Cas has been moving around his apartment without the help of his walker for the past week or so, but his place is pretty small and there’s always a table or piece of furniture nearby if he needs a little extra support. That’s a far cry from walking around the open fire station.

“I’ll be fine, Dean.” Cas says haughtily. Hmm. Maybe Dean shouldn’t have teased Cas about the walker so much. Gabe tying that bunch of helium balloons to it like in that Disney movie Dean’s never going to admit to crying during probably didn’t help either.

“Look, if this about me and Gabe teasing you about the walker, you know we didn’t mean it. It doesn’t _really_ make you look like the movie poster for the next _Grumpy Old Men_ sequel.”

Cas glares at him.

“You realize how not-convincing that sounds, right?”

“Well, I mean, you _are_ pretty grumpy.”

Despite his best efforts, the corners of Cas lips quirk upward and Dean grins.

“Come on,” Cas says grumpily and _fuck,_ if that isn’t adorable. “It’s freezing out here.”

“At least hold onto me while we’re walking to the building,” Dean pleads. “It could be slick and the _last _thing you need is a fall right now.”

Cas concedes the point and reaches for Dean’s arm. As they make their way slowly up the paved walkway, Dean finds himself catching the scent of Cas’ cologne, something soft, but spicy. He breathes shallowly, having to fight the urge to pull Cas in even closer as snowflakes start to fall softly around them. 

* * *

Castiel takes a reluctant step away from Dean as they enter the fire station, though he does keep one hand on his friend’s arm for support. Whether that support is more physical or emotional, he can’t be sure. 

It’s been a long time since Castiel last attended a party like this. The last time he attended a workplace Christmas party was at Bart’s firm, two years ago. Castiel had always hated socializing with Bart’s coworkers. They were stuffy and pretentious and Castiel always had the distinct feeling they were looking down on him, though now he’s coming to realize that may have just been Bart himself.

_“I hope the stares didn’t bother you too much, Castiel.”_

_“Stares?”_

_“You didn’t notice? Well, you were a little underdressed for that sort of party, dear. I’m sure that’s all it was.”_

Castiel pushes away the unhappy memory and tightens his grip on Dean’s arm, feeling a sense of relief when Dean reaches over with his free hand and rests it on top of Castiel’s. As always, touching Dean grounds him. He’s missed this closeness these past few weeks, since Castiel’s decision to be friends-only opened this chasm between them and a yoga instructor named Lisa cemented it. 

They carefully navigate the crowded room, heading toward the round, cloth-covered tables on the far side of the beautifully decorated engine bay. The firetrucks have all been moved outside for the evening, and the exposed metal rafters have been draped with hundreds of glowing twinkle lights. It’s hard to believe that this place functions as an oversized garage most of the time. 

Dean stops to introduce him to several people as they make their way across the bay. He meets Victor and Roy, who he learns are a part of Dean’s company and were both at the scene of his accident. He thanks them both profusely for their part in rescuing him, which they assure him was their pleasure and all in a day’s work. 

He meets Jo, who was one of Castiel’s flight medics and gives him a warm smile and a big hug that makes his eyes tear up unexpectedly. She’s known Dean since childhood and, since her mom, Ellen, married Bobby a few years back, is Dean’s sort-of step-cousin/pseudo-sister. 

_"I feel like I need an org chart,”_ Castiel had joked months ago when Dean first outlined his family tree.

_“Just try not to think about it too hard,” _Dean had laughed in return. _“Family is family.”_

It had been a novel concept for Castiel, whose own family were ranked in a very rigid hierarchy. One’s rank within that hierarchy determined everything from where one sat during family functions to what kind of career one was expected to pursue to what type of person one was expected to marry.

Jo is smart, sassy, and clearly more than a match for Dean, who ends up sulking by the end of their conversation after he’s unable to deter Jo from telling Castiel about the time nine-year-old Dean cried for an hour because he accidently ran over a butterfly with his bike. 

“Aww, that’s exactly how his face looked then, too,” Jo teases, gesturing at Dean’s pouty lips. Castiel hides his smile behind his hand, but he the glare he gets from Dean tells him that his eyes are giving him away. 

“I think it’s very sweet that you were so concerned for other living things, even as a child. It explains why you’ve dedicated your life to saving the lives of others,” Castiel whispers softly, so only Dean can hear.

“Yeah, you would, you big sap,” Dean deflects, but Cas doesn’t miss the flush creeping up his friend’s neck. He has to fight back the sudden urge to press his lips there. That would be both inappropriate and unwelcome. After all, Dean is with Lisa now. 

Castiel is distracted from his distraction when, having finally reached the tables, Dean pulls out a chair for him. He lowers himself into it gratefully.

“Are you okay?” Dean asks anxiously, placing a warm palm on Castiel’s shoulder.

“I’m fine,” he assures, “Just a little tired.”

“Are you sure? ‘Cause if you need to go, we can go. Just say the word.”

“I’m _fine_, Dean,” Castiel says, more firmly this time. He fights the urge to roll his eyes at Dean’s mother-henning.

Dean opens his mouth to say something more, but he’s interrupted by a sharp, “’Bout damn time you made it over here, boy. Was startin’ to think you weren’t gonna shut yer trap long enough to manage it.”

A surly looking man with a surlier-looking beard in a flannel and almost-clean baseball cap wheels himself toward them from a neighboring table. Castiel never thought he’d miss his wheelchair, but a new layer of fatigue hits him as he watches the man pull up easily to their table and for just a moment, he wishes he’d brought it. Not the walker though. He knows it’s the worst kind of vanity, but he feels like he receives more stares and odd looks with the walker than he ever had in his chair.

Dean grins.

“Did you miss me that much, Bobby? I’m touched,” he teases with a smirk.

“In the head,” Bobby grumbles, before looking pointedly between Dean and Castiel. “You gonna introduce us, or did I just wheel myself over here for the exercise?”

“Like you’ve ever exercised on purpose,” Dean grumbles, earning a glare from the man Castiel now knows must be Bobby, Dean’s boss and surrogate uncle/father. “Bobby, this is Cas. Cas, this old coot is Bobby Singer: fire chief, resident grump, and general pain in my ass.”

“Now, now, no need to use my full title,” Bobby says. “Just Bobby’ll do.”

“It’s nice to meet you, Bobby. Dean’s told me a lot about you,” Castiel says, extending his hand for Bobby to shake.

Bobby squints up at Dean, “He’s got manners. What the hell’s he doin’ with you?”

“Hey, I’ve got manners,” Dean defends. 

“Uh huh. That’s why you still haven’t offered to get Castiel here somethin’ to drink after haulin’ him all over the damn building.”

Dean pales.

“Shit. Sorry, Cas. Do you want something to drink?”

“Some water would be nice. Thank you, Dean.”

“Just water? I’ll bring some snacks too, okay?” He goes to walk away, but hesitates. “Are you sure you’ll be okay on your own for a minute? I can send someone else to get the drinks. And like I said earlier, if you’re really too tired, we can go anytime. I mean it. Don’t overdo it, Cas.”

This time Castiel does roll his eyes as Dean scans the room in an attempt to find someone else, probably Sam, to sucker into bringing them refreshments.

“Dean, stop hovering.”

“I’m not _hovering._ I’m _helping._”

“You were right. I should have brought the walker.”

Eyes widening in surprise, Dean asks, “Really?”

“Yes. Then I’d have something to hit you with. Now go.” 

“Mean, Cas.” Dean narrows his eyes. “You were nicer when you were on the painkillers, you know that?”

“You were less irritating when I was on the pain killers.”

Bobby snorts and they pause in their bickering to look at him.

“I like this one, Dean. Now, listen to the boy and go get yer drinks. He’s a grown-ass man and I don’t bite.”

“I’m not so sure about that,” Dean mumbles, but he wanders off toward the buffet table.

As soon as Dean walks away, Bobby reaches behind him, pulling an unopened bottle of water out of the pocket on the back of his wheelchair and tossing it to Castiel. 

“Here. The way that boy gabs, you’ll drop dead of thirst before he makes it back here.”

Castiel raises his eyebrows, but thanks Bobby all the same and takes a swig of the cool water. He really is thirsty.

“Dean’s not my son, but he’s as good as,” Bobby says gruffly and Castiel nods. “Family don’t end with blood,” he says sternly.

Castiel can’t help his smile, remembering Dean repeating those same words to him not long ago.

“So I’ve heard.”

“And I’ve heard you just got out of a chariot like mine here,” Bobby continues, patting the armrest of his wheelchair.

“Yes. Just this month, actually.”

“Congratulations. I’d hate to have to put you back in it if you hurt that boy of mine.”

Castiel chokes on his water.

“Dean and I,” he pauses on a sputtering cough, “aren’t dating.”

“Mmhmm,” Bobby hums disbelievingly.

“We’re not,” Castiel insists. “He’s actually dating a woman named Lisa.”

“Really? ‘Cause I don’t see her here tonight, do you?”

“It’s new,” he argues.

“Look, son. I’ve known Dean for most his life. He’s been working at this fire house and coming to this party for more than ten years now. You wanna guess how many times he’s brought a date? I’ll give you a hint. It’s a number less than one.” 

Castiel has no response to that.

“If you’re here, you must be pretty damn special to him. That’s all I’m sayin’.”

“He’s special to me too,” Castiel finds himself admitting quietly.

“Good. Remember that, when one of you idjits cocks it all up.” Bobby turns his wheelchair away from the table, calling over his shoulder, “Now that the _feelings_ portion of the night’s over, I need a damn beer.” 

Castiel is still quietly reeling from his conversation with the grizzled fire chief when yet another burly fireman drops into the seat across from him.

“You must be Cas,” says the stranger in a slow, New Orleans drawl, sticking his hand out to shake Castiel’s. “Benny.”

“Ah, yes. Dean’s mentioned you… and I remember you from my accident, I think. You were there that day, right?”

“I was, indeed,” Benny says, raising his eyebrows. “I’m impressed you can remember that much. You were lookin’ pretty out of it last time I saw you, Cher.”

Castiel squints at the man across from him, trying to piece together his shifting memories of that day. 

“You tried to convince Dean to get out of the car,” Castiel says slowly, “when you had to take the roof.”

“You do remember.” Benny looks amused. “And it wasn’t nothin’ personal, Cher. Just followin’ protocol. Cuttin’ into a vehicle like that, it can be dangerous. Glass and metal shards everywhere. And Dean wasn’t even geared up. He could have been hurt.”

“But he refused to get out,” Castiel recalls fondly. “He wouldn’t leave me.”

“Well now, that’s because Dean’s always been one to make the heart choice, not the smart choice.”

Benny’s face shifts from open and friendly to something a bit darker, a bit dangerous, as he looks pointedly at Castiel, who suddenly has the feeling they’re talking about a lot more than Dean getting covered in windshield glass on a Friday afternoon in September.

“Ah.”

“When Dean sets his mind on somethin’, he’s all-in. He deserves the same in return. So, if you can’t give him that, Castiel, if that ain’t you, well, you make damn sure he gets outta the car. Don’t let him stay there when the roof’s ‘bout to come down on him.”

Benny holds Castiel’s gaze for a long, tense moment. Fortunately, Castiel is spared having to find a response to that statement by Dean’s return from the buffet table, both hands laden with heaping plates of appetizers and deep-fried party food. 

“Hey, Benny,” Dean pulls the broad-shouldered firefighter into a brief hug and Benny’s demeanor instantly shifts back to cuddly teddy-bear. “I see you’ve met Cas.”

“Hey, brother. Well I saw you at the buffet table and figured I’d give Cas here someone to talk to while you were takin’ the ‘all you can eat’ sign as a personal challenge.”

“Hey,” Dean defends, “I was getting’ food for both of us. That’s why I got so much.”

“Pretty sure eatin’ for two’s only an acceptable excuse if you’re pregnant, Cher.”

“Eat me, Lafitte.”

Castiel watches as Dean smiles and talks with his friends and colleagues, thinking over what he’s just been told by Bobby and Benny, both of whom clearly care about his friend a great deal. 

Dean tosses his head back in a deep laugh and Castiel’s breath catches in his throat. The firefighter is framed by the paned glass of the enormous fire bay doors. The swirling snow is just visible in the darkness through the glass, which reflects back the warm glow of the twinkle lights. The overall effect is that of hundreds of stars, shining brightly above the falling snow. Dean himself looks ethereal in its midst: green eyes standing out starkly against flushed, freckled skin that disappears into a fitted, olive green button-down beneath his familiar leather jacket. 

As Castiel watches Dean looking carefree and happy in this place that he clearly loves, he feels a warm ache in his chest. It’s a feeling that somehow manages to be both melancholy and happy at the same time and it’s one he’s becoming increasingly familiar with when he’s with Dean. He resigns himself to it—to standing just out of reach, watching Dean laugh and love and light up a room with his mere presence.

What would it be like though, to be at the center of that light? To love and be loved by a soul that bright? To be “all-in” with Dean?

Shaking himself, he remembers that he’s here tonight while Lisa, Dean’s current romantic partner, is not. Castiel should feel ashamed to be so glad of the fact that he still has a piece of Dean the woman he’s dating doesn’t, but he’s not. After all, this is why he decided against having a relationship with Dean in the first place. This place, these people, they’re a part of Dean. Castiel can be that too. He can be Dean’s family. A relationship might end…might even end badly, but for Dean, family is forever. 

But then Dean belts out another laugh and catches Castiel’s eye, tossing him a wink and a warm, soft smile and just for a moment, Castiel lets himself wish he could be both.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Welcome to another obligatory, "everyone can see what's happening with Dean and Cas, _except_ Dean and Cas" chapter of our story. I hope you enjoyed it!
> 
> Also, the fact that Dean's Christmas party aligned with my own was just a very happy coincidence, but in the interest of keeping that holiday spirit alive, I'm going to be giving all of you dear readers a Christmas present! Now, don't get too excited, I'm going to tell you up front that it is NOT Dean and Cas getting together. (Didn't want to get anyone's hopes up. That would be like asking Santa for a new car and getting a Matchbox one instead. 😂) 
> 
> That said, check your inboxes Christmas Eve for a chapter full of Christmas fluff! In preparation (and because apparently this fic has become a recipe exchange), share with me your favorite holiday breakfast/brunch item. And if you want an easy and tasty holiday (or any day) breakfast that you can prep and stick in the fridge the night before, then pop in the oven while you open presents (or drink mimosas), I make this [Very Berry Baked Oatmeal](https://diethood.com/berry-baked-oatmeal/) every Christmas, and it's always a hit! (It also works great if you ever have breakfast events that you need to take a dish too. I prep the night before, then toss it in the oven while I shower).
> 
> See you soon!


	17. Chapter 17

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which everything is beautiful and nothing hurts.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Dear Readers!
> 
> As promised, you're getting an extra chapter this week as my Christmas gift to you. It's Christmas Eve for us and Christmas Day for our boys! I hope you all enjoy this extra bit of Christmas fluff. There's a dash of pining and maybe a tiny hint of remembered sadness (because, let's face it, that's Christmas too) but mostly fluff, and love, and found family.
> 
> Enjoy! 💕

** _Tuesday, December 25, 2018_ **

_“DEEEEECK THE HALLS WITH BOUGHS OF HOLLY. FA-LA-LA-LA-LAAAA LA-LA-LA-LA.”_

Castiel groans and pulls the covers over his head as his bedroom door is flung open and the light switch suddenly flipped on. 

“Rise and shine, baby bro! It’s Christmas!” Shading his eyes against the bright overhead light, Castiel sees Gabriel’s grinning figure outlined in his doorway, an equally cheerful Claire perched on his hip.

“Morning, sweet girl,” he rasps warmly before turning to squint at the clock on his nightstand. “Gabriel, it is six o’clock in the morning.”

“Wrong,” Gabriel bellows. “It’s six o’clock on _Christmas_ morning and that means it’s time for _presents_. Tell him, Claire.”

“Ya-ya,” Claire sing-songs at top volume, waving her chubby arms in emphasis.

Castiel finds himself grinning in spite of the unreasonable hour. 

“You make a compelling argument,” he concedes, pushing himself upright and reaching for the robe he’d tossed over the foot of his bed. Standing carefully, he slowly makes his way toward Gabriel and Claire. Though he rarely uses his walker anymore, he still finds that he’s a bit stiffer and slower in the mornings.

“There’d better be coffee made by the time I make it to the kitchen,” he grumbles at Gabriel. 

Shooting him a two-fingered salute, his brother turns and saunters off toward the kitchen, bouncing a giggling Claire and belting out, _“Jingle Bells, Batman smells. Robin laid an egg.”_

Castiel grimaces at the back of Gabriel’s wild, gingerbread-man-covered Christmas pajama onesie. A large patch over his rear reads, “Sweet Cheeks.” Sighing in resignation, he follows the pair out of his bedroom. When he makes it to the kitchen after a quick stop in the bathroom, he’s greeted by the welcome sight of his favorite bee mug, waiting for him in the Keurig and filled with steaming coffee. Humming in contentment, he takes a life-giving sip before setting it on the counter and turning the oven on to pre-heat.

That done, he moves to the refrigerator and carefully removes the red ceramic baking pan he’d prepped for their breakfast before Dean picked him up to go to the Christmas party yesterday evening. The baked oatmeal recipe he’d found online had been incredibly quick and easy to prepare and he’d had most of the ingredients in his kitchen already. He’d been looking for something that could be prepped the day before and just popped in the oven Christmas morning and wouldn’t require him to be on his feet for a long period of time.

Gabriel eyes the fruit-topped oatmeal concoction with open disdain, before dramatically whisking the foil off not one, but _two _trays of assorted, home-made Christmas cookies. Castiel gapes.

“Gabriel, not even _you_ can eat that many cookies.”

His brother just shrugs.

“I got bored while you were on your date last night. When I get bored, I bake.”

Castiel rolls his eyes. “You know it wasn’t a date, Gabriel.”

“Let’s see,” Gabriel starts as they make their way into the living room with their coffees in-hand (and for Gabriel, a plateful of Christmas cookies), “he picked you up at your door, you dressed up _and _shaved, he took you to his workplace holiday event—something people traditionally take their significant others to, he introduced you to all his coworkers, his friends, and oh yeah, his boss/pseudo-father. That’s not just a date, Cassie, that’s a whole damn relationship!”

Castiel sighs again but doesn’t bother disagreeing as he settles himself on the couch. There’s no point. The more he disagrees, the more his contrary brother will argue his point. He decides to take the higher, much more dignified route of ignoring Gabriel altogether.

Carefully lowering himself to the floor, Castiel scoops a squirming Claire into his lap. She looks adorable in the penguin-covered fleece sleeper he chose to match his own Christmas pajamas, a simple pair of red, white and black flannel pajama pants and a soft red t-shirt with a picture of a single penguin announcing, “It’s penguin-ing to look a lot like Christmas.” 

Gabriel hands him a gift labeled with Claire’s name and they spend the next hour watching Claire open her first ever Christmas gifts (which by the third gift basically turns into Castiel opening them while Claire plays with the wrapping paper) and exchange their own gifts. Afterwards, as Castiel enjoys his bowl of steaming baked oatmeal, having already fed Claire hers, he finds himself eyeing the empty space on the couch next to him.

As much as he’s enjoyed this peaceful morning, he can’t help but feel like something is missing. He loves Claire and Gabriel more than anything, of course, but over the past few months, their little family has expanded and he can’t help but miss its other members. Having spent both Halloween and Thanksgiving with Charlie and the Winchesters, he now associates holidays with warmth, and laughter, and dining room tables over-laden with both food and people. 

And, of course, with Dean.

Unfortunately, it’s just going to be his little immediate family for their Christmas dinner today. Charlie and Gilda’s relationship has continued to flourish, and as they’d spent Thanksgiving with the Miltons and Winchesters, they’re spending Christmas with Gilda’s family. Castiel smiles as he recalls how nervous his normally confident friend has been at the prospect of meeting her girlfriend’s parents for the first time. If he hadn’t already known just how head-over-heels Charlie was for the soft-spoken Gilda, that would have given her away.

Sam, Jess, and Dean will be having Christmas dinner at Bobby’s, which is their usual tradition. The Harvelle-Singer household had spent the Thanksgiving holiday visiting Ellen’s sister in Nebraska, which is why the event had been moved to the Winchester-Moore apartment. Dean had mentioned asking Bobby and Ellen if Castiel, Gabriel, and Claire could come to dinner, but Castiel had assured him that wasn’t necessary. He didn’t want to intrude on someone else’s family tradition, even if he will miss the lively banter and friendly teasing he’s come to expect from dinners with his new friends.

They would have invited Kali to join them, of course, but since she’s Hindu and doesn’t celebrate Christmas, she always volunteers for the Christmas Day shift at the hospital where she works as a pediatrician—the same hospital where Castiel was treated after his accident, in fact. 

It had taken Gabriel weeks to admit that was where they’d met. He’d sheepishly come clean when he could no longer put off introducing his girlfriend and brother. As it turned out, the couple had met in the hospital café during one of Gabriel’s visits, when Kali had been bemoaning the sorry state of the pastry case, only for Gabriel to pull out a box of assorted muffins from his own bakery.

_“So that’s what happened to the muffins you promised me.” _Castiel had glared accusingly. 

In truth though, he’s happy something positive could come out of his accident for Gabriel. He can’t imagine how his brother must have felt, first seeing Castiel in that hospital bed and then being the one to have to search the mangled remains of his SUV for his belongings.

Sipping his second cup of coffee, Castiel thinks about how he’d always imagined this day, his child’s first Christmas—how he’d pictured a partner sitting next to him on the sofa, sipping his own coffee as they happily watched their little one play with the new toys “Santa” had brought her. It was supposed to be Bart in that place, of course, in their expensive Chicago flat, where instead of the spicy Christmas blend K-cups Castiel had purchased, they’d be sipping lattes from the high-end espresso machine Bart had insisted on but hated to use himself, always whining until Castiel would relent and make his coffee for him.

Another memory of their last Christmas together surfaces.

_“I saw an article about your parents in the newspaper today. They were attending that big Christmas charity gala your stepfather holds every year. Do you wonder if they ever think about you at the holidays? There wasn’t any mention of their sons in the article. It makes me wonder if they just pretend you never existed at all. Oh, don’t cry, Castiel. You don’t need them anyway. You have me. I can be all the family you need.”_

He tries to imagine Bart here, in this apartment, in the life Castiel has built in Lawrence for himself and the daughter who was supposed to be theirs. He finds that Bart just doesn’t fit. There’s no place for him here. 

Unhelpful as ever, his imagination decides to plug a certain green-eyed firefighter into that spot instead. Castiel blinks as he pictures a sleep-rumpled, pajama-clad Dean sipping Christmas coffee in that empty spot—the same place he’d sat and drank cocoa while they decorated Castiel’s Christmas tree in fact. Dean, well, Dean _fits_. He fits as if that empty spot on Castiel’s couch, the empty spot in Castiel’s _life_, was carved out just for him.

Is it possible, Castiel wonders, to feel nostalgic for something that hasn’t happened? To miss something that you never had?

He’s pulled from his thoughts by a knock at the door. 

“Who could that be?” he wonders aloud.

“It is Christmas, maybe it’s Santa. Have you been a very good boy, Little Cassie?” Gabriel waggles his eyebrows and Castiel frowns at him. Since his brother clearly doesn’t plan to vacate his spot in the recliner, Castiel stands with a sigh and moves to answer the door. When he opens it, he finds himself staring, open-mouthed at the same green-eyed firefighter who’d been dominating his thoughts just moments before. And, because the universe hates him, Dean is wearing _pajamas. _Even worse, they’re _Christmas pajamas_, well, sort of. Dean’s wearing a pair of black and white plaid pajama pants and a black t-shirt with a cartoon penguin above the words, “This is my Christmas pajama shirt.”

He looks adorable.

Of course, he’s reasonably certain he’d still find Dean adorable wearing a trash bag, so…

“Dean? Um…”

“Come on in, Dean-o,” Gabriel calls, leaning around Castiel to see the eldest Winchester. As Castiel steps back, confused but not unhappy, to let Dean through the doorway, Charlie and Gilda step out of the elevator, both wearing their own Christmas pajamas: Star Wars themed for Charlie and light blue flannel covered in delicate snowflakes for Gilda.

“’Sup bitches.” Charlie offers her usual greeting before pushing past both Dean and Castiel (being decidedly gentler with himself) and into the apartment.

“Merry Christmas, Castiel,” Gilda says quietly as she follows her girlfriend. 

“Merry Christmas,” Castiel returns, feeling as confused as ever. 

Chuckling at his bewildered expression as they follow the girls into the living room, Dean asks, “I’m guessing Gabe didn’t tell you he invited us over?”

“No,” Castiel says slowly. “He didn’t. I thought you all had plans today?”

“Well, yeah,” cuts in Gabriel, somehow balancing three coffee mugs and another plateful of Christmas cookies—now he knows why there were so many. “They all have plans for Christmas _dinner_. That’s why we’re having Christmas _brunch _instead.”

Castiel suddenly notices that in addition to themselves, his friends are carrying presents and dishes of what are apparently brunch foods to share. 

“But why are you all wearing pajamas?”

“Because eight o’clock in the morning is too early for an ugly sweater party,” Charlie explains as if that’s the most obvious reasoning in the world. 

“I certainly can’t argue with that logic,” he concedes with a grin, nearly choking on the ending words as he watches Dean settle himself onto the previously vacant sofa cushion that had been haunting Castiel’s thoughts all morning.

“What’s wrong?” Dean shoots him a confused look that Castiel is thankfully spared from answering by the timely arrival of the youngest Winchester and Winchester-to-be. 

Merry Christmases and hugs are exchanged all around as Sam and Jess help themselves to coffee before finding seats. Sam pulls a chair in from the dining room and sits in it, with Jess taking a seat on the floor and leaning back against his legs. By unanimous vote, they decide to eat their brunch where they are, taking turns fetching plates full of food from the kitchen.

“Dude.” Dean shakes his head at Sam as he mumbles around a mouthful of Gilda’s French toast casserole. “You make it too easy.” He nods at Sam and Jess’ matching Christmas pajamas—red and grey moose-patterned pants and bright red fleece shirts with a large gold moose on the chest. 

“Careful, Dean,” Jess warns. “I’m wearing the same thing, remember.”

Dean snorts before looking at Sam and fake coughing into his hand. “Whipped.”

Sam doesn’t answer. Instead, he raises his eyebrows and looks pointedly between the penguin silhouette on Castiel’s pajama shirt and the cartoon penguin on Dean’s. 

Suddenly finding his piece of Dean’s quiche (_“You made quiche?” “Dude, it’s like breakfast pie!”) _incredibly interesting, Castiel feels his face warm and hopes no one else notices.

“Bitch,” Dean grumbles, throwing a half-eaten Santa cookie at Sam’s head.

“Jerk,” the younger Winchester counters with a smug grin, catching the cookie and taking a bite.

“Alright, boys and girls, now that we’re all fed and watered, it’s time for presents,” Charlie exclaims, rubbing her hands together gleefully and moving to the tree, where a new pile of presents has replaced the ones opened by Castiel, Gabriel, and Claire early this morning. Charlie quickly hands out presents until each person sitting around the room has a gift to open.

“On your mark, get set, and _open!”_

Castiel tears open his first gift, a pair of coffee mugs from Charlie and Gilda: one covered in Shakespearean love quotes, with a tag signed by Gilda—and the other decorated with some of Shakespeare’s raunchiest innuendos and euphemisms, with a tag marking it from Charlie. 

The two couples thank him and Gabe for their jointly-purchased gifts, gift cards to a new restaurant and pub they had all talked about wanting to try a few weeks back, as he “helps” Claire open her gifts from them: a set of high quality board puzzles from Sam and Jess and an assortment of Harry Potter themed clothing from Charlie and Gilda, including a gorgeous dress with the Hogwarts crest on the chest, a “Snuggle this muggle” outfit, a fluffy tutu and onesie bearing a set of quidditch goal posts next to the words “I’m a keeper,” and a package containing several pairs of tiny Potter socks. Castiel gapes at her as Charlie blushes faintly. 

“They were all so cute,” she defends. “I couldn’t decide.”

“I stopped her from adding a set of toddler-sized Gryffindor robes,” Gilda says, shooting a fond and slightly amused smile at her girlfriend.

“How did you manage that?” asks Sam quizzically. 

“I told her it would be unfair to try to project her own House preferences on a young, impressionable child.”

“She called me Gryffin-normative,” Charlie grouses, shooting a mock-glare at Gilda, who just grins back cheekily as their friends all laugh.

As lovely as all the gifts are, Castiel’s favorites of the day are definitely from Dean. The set of Star Wars children’s books he’d given Claire, including _ABC-3po _and _Goodnight, Darth Vader_, amongst others, are adorable, but it’s what he says when Castiel opens _his_ gift that he finds the most touching. As Castiel gazes down at the hardcover collection of the first three illustrated Harry Potter novels, Dean explains, “She might be a little young for them yet, but I know how much this series means to you and I know with your parents being…” He pauses.

“Religious nutjobs,” Gabriel fills in helpfully around a mouthful of snickerdoodle.

“Yeah. That,” Dean agrees. “Anyways, I know you didn’t get to experience these books until you were an adult and I thought you might want to introduce Claire to them early.” 

Dean had asked him once, sometime after their Harry Potter Halloween conversation, why he loved a children’s series so much if he hadn’t read it until adulthood. 

_“Honestly, I think I love them so much _because_ I read them as an adult. I first read Sorcerer’s Stone when I was a freshman in college, shortly after I’d been disowned by my parents and while I was estranged from Gabriel. Not only could I identify with Harry’s childhood spent feeling like an outsider, I also knew exactly how he felt when he looked into the Mirror of Erised and saw himself surrounded by generations of Potters.”_

_“Well, you’re not an outsider here, Cas,” Dean had answered softly. “And if you give it a little time, I think you’re gonna find that you won’t need a magic mirror to surround yourself with family.”_

“I love them, Dean,” Castiel says warmly, lightly trailing a finger along the beautifully illustrated cover of _Harry Potter and the Sorcerer’s Stone_. “They’re perfect and I can’t wait to start reading them to Claire. I’d always planned to buy them for her, but as a single parent, they’ve been a little out of my price range,” he admits quietly, wanting Dean to know just how much this gift means to him.

“Yeah, well, it’s no big deal, but I’m glad you like them,” Dean deflects. Castiel doesn’t miss the sudden rosiness to his cheeks, however.

“I do,” he reiterates, beaming at his friend. “Here. Open mine. It’s not much,” he adds, feeling suddenly self-conscious about his simple gift after opening Dean’s much more expensive one.

Dean tears open the paper with a grin at Castiel, which softens into something much more intimate when he sees his gift. He swallows as he holds up two picture frames—one holding the picture of him and an ice-cream-covered Claire and the other showing the picture of the three of them, smiling over mugs of hot cocoa. 

Dean stares at the photos and Castiel may be imagining it, but his eyes seem to glisten a little more in the glow of the twinkle lights than they did just a minute ago.

“I know you already have the digital copies,” he explains nervously, “but I thought you might like to have them printed, as well.” He doesn’t mention that he framed copies of the same photos for himself, which are currently sitting on his nightstand. 

“I love them, Cas,” Dean says, echoing Castiel’s earlier sentiment. “They’re perfect.”

Castiel knows he’s staring again, but he can’t seem to look away. Fortunately, Dean looks down a moment later at a tug on his flannel-clad leg. Claire pulls at him again, looking pointedly from Dean to the floor. He chuckles as he slides off the couch and seats himself cross-legged on the carpet.

“She is so much like you,” he says with no small amount of amusement. Castiel narrows his eyes, but can’t hide his smile as Claire promptly turns around in front of Dean and seats herself in his lap with an abrupt plop.

Gabriel opens his mouth, an evil glint in his eye.

“No,” Castiel says sharply, pointing at his brother, who sticks out his lip in a pout.

“Da,” Claire says delightedly, jabbing cocoa-drinking-photo-Castiel in the face with a slightly slobbery finger.

“Yep, that’s Da,” Dean says with a smile.

“Dee,” she adds, now pointing at photo-Dean.

“That’s right.” Dean’s smile grows as he points to Claire where she’s nestled between them in the photo. “And who’s this?”

Claire tilts her head quizzically and the entire room chuckles. 

“Baby?” she asks looking up at Dean.

“Yep. Baby Claire,” he amends before dropping a kiss to the top of her head. Like she had they day they’d put up the Christmas tree, Claire reaches up for Dean’s face and pulls him down into a wet baby smooch.

“Mmm-mah.”

Castiel watches with rapt attention as Dean and Claire, both looking precious in their penguin pajamas, start building with Claire’s new block set. Claire can only manage to stack about five blocks at a time and soon turns to happily knocking down Dean’s much taller towers.

Feeling suddenly out of place as Dean plays with Claire on the floor, something Castiel is still unable to do, he tries to push down the melancholy feeling. 

_Appreciate the things you can do. The things you can have_, he reminds himself.

Like always though, Dean notices Castiel’s sudden withdrawal and pulls him in with a gravitational force a collapsed star would envy. Scooping up the blocks in one arm and a wiggly one-year-old in the other, Dean makes his way back to the sofa.

“What do you say we play over here so Da can play too, huh Blondie?” 

So, they sit on the sofa and build block towers and laugh at Claire’s delighted squeals as she sends their towers toppling off the sofa again and again. Castiel has almost forgotten the others are there when he hears Gilda’s voice.

“I’m sorry to break this up, but if we’re going to make it to my parents’ in time for dinner, we’ve got to get going.” She casts an apologetic glance around the room.

Sam and Jess also murmur an agreement that they need to get going and everyone begins packing up their new gifts and left-over brunch items, piling samples of their favorites from everyone else into the many disposable Tupperware containers Castiel has collected from all of the well-meaning colleagues who sent him meals in the early days of his recovery.

As Sam and Jess start to make their way to the door, they’re stopped by a sudden squeal from Charlie.

“Oooh! Before we all go, we need a group picture!”

With a chorus of agreement, they all cluster together in front of the Christmas tree.

“But who’s going to take it?” asks Gilda.

“Here, let me,” Sam chimes in, pulling out his phone. “I’ve got selfie arms.”

Sam stretches his impressively lengthy arm out in front of them as everyone leans in as close as they can to ensure they’re all in the photo. Dean tries to shove Gabriel out of the frame and gets an elbow to the sternum for his trouble. Eventually though, Sam snaps a picture and then the friends disperse, all headed to their separate events.

“Hey, Cas,” Dean starts as Castiel hugs Jess goodbye. “I know you told me not to ask about you guys comin’ to Christmas dinner at Bobby’s…”

“Dean, you didn’t,” Castiel chides, “I told you it isn’t necessary. I’m sure Bobby and Ellen don’t want a bunch of strangers intruding on their family holiday, especially since they didn’t get to spend Thanksgiving with you and Sam.”

“If you’d let me _finish_,” Dean says snippily, “I was about to tell you that _I_ didn’t say anything. Jo did,” he says smugly. “Apparently she and Bobby both took a liking to you at the Christmas party and Jo told Ellen all about you. In fact, your not wanting to cause anyone trouble ended up landing my ass in it.”

“What do you mean?” Castiel asks, eyes widening in confusion. How could he have gotten Dean in trouble with his family?

Sam laughs. “When Ellen found out Dean was denying her the opportunity to smush and spoil a baby, she threatened to make him eat dinner out on the back porch if he shows his face without you.”

“See? You have to come, Cas.” Dean looks far too pleased to have discovered a loophole to Castiel’s very firm insistence that he not invite them to intrude upon their family’s holiday plans.

“I still don’t know, Dean. I really wouldn’t want to invade someone else’s holiday,” he says seriously, just to be a pain in the ass.

“Cas. She threatened to withhold pie,” Dean answers, just as serious, as he slides into his leather jacket. “She’ll do it too. The woman’s a menace.”

Cas fights the smile tugging at his lips, but he knows Dean sees it in his eyes when a grin lights up his face.

“Dinner’s at five. I’ll text you the address.”

He pauses on his way out the door.

“And, uh, don’t tell Ellen I called her a menace.”

“I won’t,” he says with a smirk, “as long as you don’t give me reason to.”

Jess laughs as she kisses Castiel on the cheek. “You’ll fit right in,” she assures him. He watches until the elevator doors close behind the three of them, then retreats back into his apartment. Apparently, he has a family Christmas dinner to get ready for.

* * *

Dean grins ear-to-ear as he opens Bobby and Ellen’s front door to find the Milton trio standing on the other side, Gabe holding Claire in one arm and a pie in the other, with Cas next to him, holding a tray full of yet _more_ Christmas cookies. 

“Ya know, for the record, I’d _probably _let you in even if you didn’t bring pie,” Dean greets. 

Gabe snorts. “Oh, believe me, I know it’s not the pie that’s my ticket in the door.” He looks slyly at Cas out of the corner of his eye, who frowns.

“Yes, the pie isn’t to gain admission. It’s a pre-emptive apology for everything inappropriate he says and does while here,” Cas grouses, still frowning at his beaming brother. 

Chuckling, Dean reaches to take the pie from Gabe, who immediately snatches it away, handing him Claire instead as he crosses into the entryway.

“Oh no,” he scolds, angling the pie away from Dean. “I know better than to hand _you_ a pie. This is community pie, Dean-o.”

“Ha,” calls a voice from the direction of the kitchen. “He definitely knows you, Dean!”

“Shut up, Jo!” Dean yells back at his pseudo-sister.

“And you better keep your hands off that pie! If it’s even _half_ as good as you say it is, I want a piece,” Jo calls back.

“Be nice and I’ll think about it,” Dean hollers as Cas and Gabe take off their coats and shoes, hanging the coats on the wooden coat tree in the corner behind the door and tucking their shoes neatly against the wall, next to the jumbled pile of footwear belonging to the rest of Dean’s family.

Gesturing at the shoe-heap, Dean mumbles, “Sorry, should have warned you they’re a bunch of savages.”

Gabe waves him off. “You been talkin’ up my pie, Dean-o? I’m flattered.” 

“Flattered enough to hand me that pie?” Dean asks hopefully.

Cas chuckles next to him. “There’s another one in the car just for you,” he says with a fond eye roll.

“Yes!” Dean grins. “Well, come on in, let me introduce you.”

Dean leads the way to the kitchen, where he and Ellen have been working on Christmas dinner with Jo ostensibly “helping,” but really just making a nuisance of herself and doing her best to needle Dean. Inhaling the smells of Christmas, Dean looks around the kitchen. He knows it’s not much, with its outdated wood paneling, chipped and peeling cabinets, and beige Formica countertops, but Dean feels more at home in this old house than he has anywhere else since his own childhood home burnt down.

Still carrying Claire, Dean introduces Gabe to Jo while smacking her hand away from the pecans he’d just finished chopping up for the sweet potato casserole.

“Shoo, ya vulture,” he chides, getting a tongue stuck out at him in return. 

“Very mature, Joanna Beth.” Dean smirks as Jo flips him off. She tries to drop her hand as her mom turns around from the stove, but isn’t quick enough.

“Joanna Beth! Is that any way to behave in front of company?”

Shooting Jo a smug grin that earns a glower in response, Dean puts his arm around Cas’ shoulders and pulls him over to meet Ellen. Cas sticks his hand out when Dean introduces him, but Ellen promptly bats it away with the dish towel that practically lives over her right shoulder, before pulling the startled English teacher into a hug.

“It’s so good to meet you, honey. Dean’s told us all about you. We’re so glad you’re okay.” She squeezes a very shell-shocked Cas tighter, rubbing a hand between his shoulder blades. It takes a moment, but Cas’ arms eventually come up to wrap around Ellen in return as he allows himself to relax into the hug.

Dean feels a suspicious lump in his throat as he watches the woman who’s become a second mother to him embrace his best friend. He wonders how long it’s been since Cas has experienced that kind of maternal affection, if ever. From the little bit Cas and Gabe have shared about their parents, it doesn’t sound like their mother was especially warm or loving even before she disowned her children.

After a long moment, Ellen pulls away and turns toward Dean. 

“And this must be Claire,” she says, smiling warmly at the one-year-old who’s looking around at the new place and all the new faces with wide blue eyes. Claire snuggles in closer to Dean’s chest when Ellen reaches for her, but quickly changes her mind when Ellen brandishes a candy cane in her direction, practically leaping into to woman’s arms with an exaggerated, “Mmmmm!”

Ellen chuckles before dutifully handing over the candy. Baby in tow, she heads toward the living room, calling over her shoulder as she goes, “Keep an eye on the ham, Dean. And don’t you let my sweet potatoes burn!”

“Yes, ma’am,” Dean responds with a grin. 

The next few hours pass in a blur of family and food. After retrieving the promised pecan pie from Gabe’s car and sending him, Cas, and Claire on their way, Dean spends the rest of the evening dozing on the ancient, 1970s floral print sofa in Bobby and Ellen’s living room. Hearing his phone buzz with an incoming text, he picks it up to see a message from Lisa, saying that she hopes he had a good Christmas. After responding in kind, he puts his phone back down and closes his eyes.

Lisa had invited him to join her and Ben for Christmas dinner, but he’d declined, explaining that he had a family dinner to go to. He wonders if he should feel guilty about that, but he can’t. He and Lisa have only been dating a month and that feels far too soon to be having an intimate, family Christmas dinner together. As much as Lisa assures him that they’re keeping things casual and that she’s not ready for anything more serious than he is, it’s beginning to feel like her actions are saying something different. Dean likes Lisa, he really does, and Ben’s just awesome, but it wouldn’t be fair to any of them to let this thing move too fast. After all, Dean’s still recovering from the last time he let himself get in too deep. The last thing he needs is to jump into something new without looking before he leaps. He just hopes Lisa really is on the same page. 

Cas seemed to have a good time tonight. Pushing his worries about Lisa aside, Dean remembers the way Cas’ eyes had lit up at dinner when Jo started telling every embarrassing story she could remember from Dean’s childhood. Dean couldn’t even find it in himself to get upset when the story of Rhonda and those goddamn panties came up, given the way that Cas had thrown his head back and outright chortled. Things had been so stilted and careful between the two of them recently, it feels like forever since he’s seen Cas this relaxed. And Dean’s certain that he’s never seen Cas look this at home around people that _aren’t _Dean or his brother. The fact that it’s _Dean’s _family that are making Cas feel this way leaves a warm feeling in his chest.

Picking up his phone again, Dean opens a message to Cas and sends him two pictures: the first one being the picture Sam had taken of all of them this morning, which he also sets as his new phone background. Cheerful grins fill his phone screen, all clustered around Cas where he stands in front of the Christmas tree holding Claire, who is the only one not looking at the camera, her gaze set instead on the angel tree topper. 

The second picture is one that Dean took tonight at dinner, of Cas sitting between Bobby and Ellen with Claire on his lap. Cas is deep in conversation with Bobby while Ellen fusses over both daughter and father. He follows up with a text. 

Today, 9:47 PM

You SENT:

What did I tell you? No magic mirror needed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope you all enjoyed your Christmas gift!
> 
> Which were your favorite jammies and gift? If you'd like to see them before deciding, check out the links at the bottom of this note!
> 
> I hope you all are having a wonderful week and/or holiday season! Happy Hannukah and Merry Christmas to all who celebrate. Thank you all, for all of your subscriptions, your kudos, your comments, and most of all, just for reading my story! 
> 
> Coming Friday/Saturday: A birthday party, but maybe not the one you're expecting...
> 
> [Gabe's jammies](https://www.lazyone.com/products/sweet-cheeks-adult-onesie-flapjack-262/?gclid=CjwKCAiAi4fwBRBxEiwAEO8_HhuXC771oGR20obfPJaFdJKsdVxPgDOO88X5OYxRMEZ10QCwms2QlRoCEH0QAvD_BwE)  
  
[Sam and Jess' matching jammies](https://gloimg.drlcdn.com/L/pdm-product-pic/Clothing/2017/11/11/goods-img-app/1510700295843697180.jpg)  
  
[Charlie and Gilda's jammies](https://66.media.tumblr.com/916158e707d33bc3f1656a37617d1403/0e67a836c62b966a-cc/s1280x1920/a0ecaa55982b3eb1c175adc087bb591b7e9a1044.png)
> 
> [Dean, Cas, and Claire's penguin jammies](https://66.media.tumblr.com/79515ed82054af26d9c49d45d44245b2/0e67a836c62b966a-92/s1280x1920/a11a35102779fa0d5ce75cfefa3b4ea27103eb83.png)
> 
> [Shakespeare mugs](https://www.amazon.com/dp/B000NCV44Q/?coliid=IHTEF6V240D1A&colid=2I7P2YPH6YKVO&psc=0&ref_=lv_ov_lig_dp_it)
> 
> [Snuggle this Muggle outfit](https://www.amazon.com/Miwear-Letter-Bodysuit-Headband-Outfits/dp/B07FYFTCSZ/ref=sr_1_10?dchild=1&keywords=harry+potter+baby&qid=1577202333&s=apparel&sr=1-10)
> 
> [I'm a keeper tutu dress](https://i.pinimg.com/736x/f1/5f/c3/f15fc3ae6d8cf5836ea183cc8799eb23.jpg), I would have linked to the sale page for this, but it's no longer available. :(
> 
> [Melissa and Doug Knob Puzzle Set](https://www.amazon.com/Melissa-Doug-Jumbo-Knob-Puzzle/dp/B00JZP1N8E)
> 
> [ABC-3PO](https://www.amazon.com/Star-Wars-ABC-3PO-Alphabet-Book/dp/1484741420/ref=sr_1_5?keywords=star+wars+board+books&qid=1577203024&s=books&sr=1-5)
> 
> [Goodnight, Darth Vader](https://www.amazon.com/Goodnight-Darth-Vader-Jeffrey-Brown/dp/1452128308/ref=sr_1_1?keywords=goodnight+darth+vader&qid=1577203099&s=books&sr=1-1)
> 
> [Harry Potter: The Illustrated Collection](https://www.amazon.com/Harry-Potter-Illustrated-Collection-Books/dp/133831291X/ref=sr_1_3?keywords=harry+potter+illustrated&qid=1577203233&s=books&sr=1-3)


	18. Chapter 18

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A couple of birthdays, a couple of big realizations, and a couple couples have big conversations...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello Everyone!
> 
> Huh, I wasn't intending for that summary to rhyme. Apparently _somebody's_ poetry AU has wormed its way inside my head. Speaking of which, if you're not reading it already, check out [300cc](https://archiveofourown.org/works/20800130/chapters/49436900), by my friends [LanaSerra](https://archiveofourown.org/users/LanaSerra/pseuds/LanaSerra) and [spandwiches](https://archiveofourown.org/users/spandwiches/pseuds/spandwiches)! It's wrapping up and the last chapter is set to post New Year's Eve!
> 
> Anyways, back to this story. I hope you've all had lovely holidays/weeks as we head into my last update of 2019. This is probably a good time to tell you that we do have an end in sight. I don't have a final chapter count for you just yet, because I'm working on the last chapter now and it's so big I may have to end up breaking it in two. This fic will, however, definitely be wrapping up before Valentine's Day, which just means I'm going to have to come up with something else to give you for Unattached Drifter Christmas...
> 
> You will notice that I've added yet another new tag (sorry about that). This tag does NOT appear in this chapter. However, I wanted to make sure you had several chapters warning before it comes into play, as it is a pretty serious one. The event that warrants this tag has been planned from the beginning, but was originally just going to be something off-screen that was only briefly referenced during a conversation. However, as I was writing, it managed to find its way onscreen, hence the tag. The character is no one you know or will know. In fact, they are less a character and more an innocent bystander. I will provide a content warning with more specifics in the end notes of the relevant chapter.
> 
> Regarding warnings, there are a few for this chapter, so please check the end notes before reading if needed. Okay, enough procrastinating from me, on to the chapter.

** _Sunday, January 27, 2019_ **

“Surprise!”

Dean blinks, looking around in amazement at the sheer number of people crammed into Cas’ tiny apartment. As his eyes begin to see past the smiling faces of his family and friends to take in the decorations displayed throughout the open living/dining combo area, he feels like he’s been transported back in time a month. The apartment is decorated just the way it was for Claire’s Alice-in-Wonderland themed birthday party on New Year’s Eve. 

It’s not until Dean focuses on the “Welcome to ONEderland” banner suspended above the dining room table that he realizes what’s going on. Scrawled diagonally next to the word, “ONEderland” in Cas’ blocky handwriting is the word, “Thirty-.” Dean turned thirty-one three days ago. This for _him._

Obviously, Cas is the one behind the party, but _why_ would he… A conversation from Claire’s party last month suddenly resurfaces in Dean’s mind.

_“On the one hand, I can’t believe she’s a year old already, but on the other I feel like I’ve aged ten years to her one.”_

_Dean laughed. “I’ve heard that about kids. Hey, when is your birthday anyways? Just so I know when to have the ‘over-the-hill’ banner done.”_

_Cas scowled at him and Dean smirked in return. “It’s in July, so you’ll have a while to wait on that banner, I’m afraid. What about yours?”_

_“Uh, it’s next month, actually. The twenty-fourth.”_

_Cas’ eyebrows rose in surprise. “That soon? Why is this the first I’m hearing about it? What do you have planned?”_

_Shrugging, he answered, “Nothing. Don’t really do birthdays.” He clears his throat. “Not mine, anyway. Haven’t really since Mom…”_

_He’d trailed off and looked away from the questions in Cas’ eyes, but his friend wasn’t deterred. _

_“Not yours?”_

_“Yeah, well, Sammy was just a kid and after Mom, the only kinda party Dad was up for was one that had Jim Beam and Jack Daniels as the guests of honor. Someone had to make sure the kid had a decent birthday each year. Not much fun to plan your own though, so I didn’t bother. ‘Sides, would have been a waste of money. Money was tight enough with Dad drinkin’ away most of what he brought home. Wasn’t gonna waste what little bit we had left on some cake and balloons.”_

_“Unless they were for Sam,” Cas responded flatly._

_“Exactly.”_

_“Dean_ _—” _

_“’S fine, Cas. Just drop it.”_

_“You deserve to be celebrated, Dean. You deserve good things.” _

_The earnestness in Cas’ expression had made something in Dean’s chest ache and he reminded himself again that he and Cas would never be more than friends. Cas didn’t want that. Didn’t want _him_ like that._

_“We all deserve a lot of things, Cas. Doesn’t mean we get ‘em.”_

“Did we break him?” Charlie stage whispers to Gabriel, bringing Dean back to the present and startling a laugh out of him. 

“Not broken, just…surprised,” Dean manages, finally dragging himself the rest of the way into the apartment and closing the door behind him.

“Wow, you guys,” he says more warmly, stopping for hug after hug as he makes his way around the apartment. Everyone is here: Sam, Jess, Charlie, and Gilda he’s not at all surprised to see of course, but he also spots Bobby, Ellen, Jo, and several of his other friends from the firehouse. He even sees Benny and Andrea standing by the living room sofa, which surprises him. He’d thought Cas and Benny hadn’t exactly gotten on at the Christmas party. 

Finally reaching the table, he notices some other slight alterations to the Wonderland décor. Tiny, “Eat me” pennants identical to the ones that had adorned cupcakes at Claire’s party are sticking out of miniature fruit pies in what looks to be an assortment of flavors. Dean can see apple, cherry, and black raspberry at first glance and is about two seconds away from proposing marriage to Gabe again when the sight of the cake stops him. 

It’s a beautiful, whimsical cake that looks very similar to the one Gabe had made Claire for her birthday with three tilted, round tiers in vibrant colors that capture the surreal Wonderland essence perfectly, but instead of the orange, pink, and green tiers of Claire’s cake, Dean’s tiers are in pink, purple and blue. 

The entire cake is a goddamn bisexual pride flag. 

Dean’s trying to decide whether to be touched or embarrassed by the odd gesture when he takes a closer look at the gum paste figurines on the cake. He had thought them to be the same impressive Alice in Wonderland characters Gabe had hand-crafted for Claire’s cake (the man really is talented, Dean begrudgingly admits) and indeed they are, with the exception of one. In place of the chubby, baby-faced Alice with Claire’s short blonde curls is gum-paste Dean—in Alice’s blue and white dress.

“What do you think, Dean-o?” Gabe walks up with a shit-eating Cheshire cat grin, passing Dean a beer.

Dean scowls at him for a long moment. 

“You’re an ass,” he accuses, pointing his beer bottle at the blonde-haired menace before taking a swallow. “But thanks. For all of it.”

“Ditto,” says Gabe, his expression sobering for just a moment before his eyes light up as he looks over Dean’s shoulder.

“Cassie! Dean likes the cake,” Gabe calls before wandering back to Kali on the other side of the room.

Dean turns to see Cas walking (and Dean will never tire of seeing Cas _walking_) toward him, looking stunning in his navy button-down and dark-washed jeans. 

“I’m sorry, Dean. I tried to stop him,” his friend apologizes, gesturing to the cake.

Dean chuckles. “Nah, it’s alright. It’s actually a pretty awesome cake and mini-Dean definitely pulls off that dress.”

“Good,” Cas grins, “because I didn’t try very hard.”

“Thanks, Cas,” Dean says softly. “I can’t believe you did this for me.”

Cas’ smile is small and intimate when he replies, “Good things do happen, Dean.”

Dean’s heart stutters in his chest at that smile and he looks down at his beer to distract himself. He traces his thumb along the “Drink me” tag that’s been looped around the bottle neck with twine. The words, like those on the banner and the dessert flags, are in Cas’ careful handwriting. He must have made new ones to replace the ones that were used at Claire’s party. He can’t believe how much time, effort and detail Cas has put into this party. No one’s put this much effort into something for Dean since…well, not since his mom died. 

He just can’t believe Cas would do that. For him.

Feeling his eyes well up, Dean shakes his head. 

_Of course, Cas would do that. He’s always thinking of other people. Always putting them first. It’s one of the reasons I love him._

Dean freezes.

No. That’s not… That’s one of the _things_ Dean loves _about_ Cas. Yeah, that’s all. 

_Nope. Try again, Winchester._

_Fuck._

He loves him. 

He loves Cas.

Not just a friend.

Not just a crush.

He _loves_ Cas.

He’s _in love with_ Cas.

“Hey, Babe. Sorry I’m late. I had to drop Ben off at his dad’s.” Dean startles so badly at the chipper voice next to him that beer sloshes over his hand, soaking the hand-written tag. 

* * *

“Hello, Lisa,” Castiel stamps down the sudden and inexplicable annoyance he feels at Lisa’s interruption. “I’m glad you could make it.”

“Yeah, me too. Everything looks just great.” Polite smile not quite reaching her eyes, Lisa glances between Castiel and the tri-colored cake before turning to face Dean fully.

Castiel frowns. He’s not sure where he’s mis-stepped with Dean’s girlfriend, but clearly he has. Was he rude to her when they met at Claire’s birthday party? He had tried not to be, even though the sight of Dean across the room with his arm draped casually around Lisa’s waist and his free hand resting on Ben’s shoulder as Castiel alone blew out the single candle on his daughter’s first birthday cake had caused a strange ache deep in his chest. He’d spent the rest of the day feeling like he couldn’t quite take in a full breath.

Setting down his beer and wiping his hand off with a napkin, Dean glances at Lisa briefly before refocusing on his hands. “What’d you drop Ben at Tony’s for? He didn’t wanna come?”

Lisa shrugs. “There really isn’t anyone his age here for him to play with, you know?”

Castiel wrinkles his brow. Ben had appeared to enjoy himself very much at Claire’s birthday party. He’d played with Claire nearly the entire time, delighting in being able to make her giggle. Naturally, Claire had adored being doted on by a “big kid.” He hadn’t seemed to miss having other kids his age around at all. In fact, Castiel isn’t sure if it’s just his personality (being more interested in classic rock than in popular music and kids’ television shows, for example) or a symptom of being an only child, but Ben had struck him as the kind of child who is much more comfortable around small children and adults than around his peers. 

“Huh. Didn’t seem to bother him at Claire’s party,” Dean answers, seemingly in agreement with Castiel’s assessment.

Glancing around to make sure that no one else is nearby, Lisa lowers her voice, “Well, I might have also been thinking it’d be nice to have a little _privacy_ so you can unwrap your birthday present later.” She lifts her eyebrows and shoots Dean a heated _look _that leaves no question as to her meaning.

Clearing his throat, Castiel avoids eye contact with the couple as he quickly excuses himself, suddenly needing to be somewhere where he won’t be assaulted with unwelcome visuals of his best friend wrapping himself around beautiful, sweet, _uncomplicated_ Lisa. 

He thinks he hears the beginnings of a whispered argument in his wake and briefly hopes he wasn’t the cause. Dean deserves good things. He deserves someone like Lisa. Someone who can give him everything he wants—everything that Castiel can’t. 

_Yes, uncomplicated single-parent Lisa with her busy life and time-consuming teaching career. _

Castiel curses his own brain. Single-career-mom or not, Lisa still doesn’t come with the same kind of baggage Castiel does. In desperate need of a distraction, he makes his way across the apartment, to where Bobby and Ellen are entertaining Claire, who’s seated, quite happily, on Bobby’s lap. 

“Woman, would you quit yer hoverin’? We’re fine. You act like I ain’t ever held a baby before.”

“Are you sure you don’t want me to take her for a minute?” Ellen asks innocently, reaching out to Claire, who vehemently shakes her head before burying her face in the soft flannel of Bobby’s shirt.

Bobby chuckles. “Kid’s got good taste. Don’t you worry, princess. I won’t let that wicked ol’ witch take you.” He looks at Ellen with a smug glint in his eye. “Git yer own baby. This one’s taken.”

Ellen narrows her eyes into a glare that makes even Castiel squirm. Bobby doesn’t even flinch. Castiel can’t decide if the man’s incredibly brave or decidedly foolish. Maybe both.

“Watch it, old man,” she warns. “I’d sleep with one eye open tonight if I were you.”

Bobby snorts. “Always do. How else would I ‘ave survived bein’ married to you this long?”

Castiel fights a grin. Even through their constant bickering, the love that Bobby and Ellen have for one another is obvious. A deep and encompassing warmth emanates from the two of them, suffusing everyone in their vicinity with the feelings of family and hearth. It doesn’t surprise Castiel in the slightest that this is the couple who taught Dean “family don’t end with blood.”

He’d felt the truth of those words as soon as he’d stepped into the Harvelle-Singer home on Christmas Day. He still gets a little teary-eyed when he thinks too long about the way Ellen had hugged him, like she’d somehow known that Castiel hadn’t had a mother’s hug in nearly a decade, not that his actual mother’s hugs were anything like Ellen’s. He doesn’t think Dean would have told her about his past, but he gets the feeling that Ellen is exceedingly intuitive. 

Ellen leans against Bobby’s shoulder, crossing her arms as she greets Castiel with a fond smirk.

“Hey there, Castiel. I hope you’re not here to steal your baby back. Grandpa here isn’t ready to give her up.”

Castiel chuckles as Bobby grumbles something under his breath that he’s pretty sure includes the words “jealous shrew.”

“Not at all, Ellen. She looks perfectly happy where she is. Lisa just arrived and I thought I’d give her and the birthday boy a moment to say hello.” He sees Ellen’s eyes flick to the couple on the other side of the room, but doesn’t turn to follow her gaze. He’s seen enough of Dean and Lisa for now.

Ellen harrumphs. “I give those two another month. Tops.” Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise.

_What?_

This time, he does turn around to look surreptitiously at Lisa and Dean. Earlier hushed argument seemingly forgotten, the two are now smiling and laughing as they talk with Benny and Andrea. Dean has his arm looped casually around Lisa’s petite shoulders and hers hugs his waist. They look like a picture-perfect couple and the image twists something deep in Castiel’s gut.

“What do you mean?” he can’t help but ask Ellen. “They look perfectly happy to me.”

Ellen scoffs. “That? That ain’t happy. That’s comfortable.”

“Leave it alone, Ell,” Bobby warns. Under his breath he adds, “If they wanna be idjits, they’re gonna be idjits.”

“I don’t understand. Isn’t that a good thing to feel when you’re in a relationship with someone?”

Ellen raises an eyebrow at him. “Ratty jeans with holes in the knees are _comfortable_. That broken down old sofa in my living room with the cushion we keep flipped over to hide the stain is _comfortable_. Your love life should be a little more than just _comfortable_, don’t you think?”

Castiel clears his throat before answering, “I don’t really think it’s my place to make comments or assumptions about Dean’s love life.” He nearly chokes on the last two words, but manages to force them out.

“If you say so,” Ellen responds, far too casually. 

“What do you_—_”

“Boy, don’t ask stupid questions you won’t like the answers to,” Bobby says in exasperation. 

Castiel’s jaw snaps shut. 

“Well look at that,” Bobby marvels. “Finally one idjit around here who ain’t as dumb as he looks.”

Narrowing his eyes, Castiel teases the grizzly fire chief, “Be nice or I’ll take my baby back.”

Castiel is bluffing, of course. Not only would he not want to disrupt the frankly adorable bonding between his tiny daughter and the cranky fire chief, he’s also still not able to carry Claire around like he once could, though he’s come a long way in his healing and is now at least able to lift her in and out of her crib. He feels his lips twitch at the way Bobby’s face falls into a grumpy sulk, then nearly stumbles as Ellen claps him on the back, letting out a guffaw as she does.

“I knew I liked you. Whatever happens…” Castiel pretends not to notice the significant _look_ she directs toward the other side of the apartment, “you’ve got family here now, Cas. Don’t you forget it.”

“Thank you, Ellen.” Castiel watches fondly as Bobby pretends to yelp when Claire pulls on his beard, sending his little girl into a fit of the giggles. 

“I won’t.”

* * *

“Look, I’m just sayin’ you could have been a little more subtle about the whole, ‘unwrapping my birthday present thing,’ that’s all,” Dean says as they walk through the doorway of Lisa’s small ranch-style house, continuing the argument Benny had interrupted back at Cas’ place. “Cas was clearly uncomfortable.”

“He’s a grown man, Dean,” Lisa counters with a bored eyeroll. “I’m sure he’s heard of sex before. Probably even had it a time or two.”

Dean has to force down memories of the one sexual experience of Cas’ he can personally vouch for before answering, “There’s a difference between having your own sex life and hearing about someone else’s, Lis.”

“What, like guys don’t talk about their conquests?”

“Douchey ones, maybe, but decent guys? Not like you’d think.”

“Huh.” Lisa seems genuinely surprised by this. “Women do.”

Dean groans. Between Charlie and Jo, he’s heard _far_ too many stories that prove Lisa’s point beyond question.

“Don’t remind me.”

“How about I remind you about that birthday present instead?” Lisa’s voice drops to a sultry purr as she stalks toward Dean. Normally, he’d be halfway undressed by the time Lisa makes it across the room, but tonight he doesn’t move. He and Lisa still aren’t officially exclusive and they haven’t exactly had the “relationship talk” yet, but the thought of sleeping with Lisa when he’s just figured out that he’s head over heels in love with his best friend feels three kinds of all-fucking-wrong.

Not seeming to notice his discomfort, Lisa winds her arms around his neck as she asks, “You’re staying over, right?”

“Um,” Dean stammers, arms hanging awkwardly by his sides as he tries to keep as much space between their bodies as possible without pushing Lisa away outright, “I don’t know if I should. I’d have to head out pretty early. Gabe has some big catering order that he has to get started on in the morning, so he’ll be at the shop before Claire’s daycare opens. I told him I’d take her.”

Huffing out a frustrated sigh, Lisa drops her arms.

“Really, Dean? We have an entire night to ourselves _and_ you have the day off tomorrow, but we can’t even sleep in together because _Claire_ needs a ride to daycare? I arranged for Ben to stay an extra night at his dad’s so we could have this time!”

“Hey, it’s not like I knew Ben wouldn’t be here. That was a _surprise_, remember? I agreed to pick up Claire a week ago,” Dean defends, feeling irritation prickle under his skin. Lisa has started acting funny every time he brings up Cas or Claire and it’s really starting to get on his nerves. The Miltons are family and when family needs you, you step the fuck up.

“Still, couldn’t you have asked someone else to take her? We were surrounded by just about every person Castiel knows in Lawrence today. Why couldn’t one of them do it? Why does it always have to be you?”

“I’m sure they could have, but I didn’t ask. I’d already agreed to take her. She’s _my_ responsibility.” Dean argues, temper flaring.

“She’s not actually _your_ kid, Dean! You know that, right?”

“She’s as good as!” Dean nearly shouts.

Instead of getting angrier, like Dean expects, Lisa suddenly seems to deflate. Looking down, she huffs out a sardonic chuckle, “You know, I should probably feel grateful that you’re capable of loving someone else’s kid like they’re your own. And I would, if I thought she was the only one you loved.” 

Meeting Dean’s eyes, she takes a deep breath before finishing, “But she’s not, is she?”

“Lis,” Dean tries to say, but what comes out is barely a whisper.

Lisa smiles sadly, “That’s what I thought. Cas is your unrequited thing, isn’t he?”

Christ, Dean’s an asshole. _Fuck. _They’ve only been dating for a couple of months. This shouldn’t be that hard, but it is. He knows that Lisa doesn’t usually let people in this quickly. She can’t, having Ben. The fact that she’s already let Dean become such a familiar presence in their lives tells him that she really saw a future for them. For the _three _of them. But all Dean can see is Cas.

Gathering his resolve, he looks helplessly at the woman in front of him, arms crossed protectively over her middle, “Lis, I swear I didn’t know. When we started dating, I didn’t know. Otherwise, I never would have...” He trails off, swallowing hard.

Lisa gives him a calculating look for a moment, then nods. “I believe you. Now you do know though, and it’s not fair to any of us to go on pretending.” 

Looking down at his boots, Dean nods his agreement. Man, he’s fucked this all up. 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asks, knowing the answer.

“I know what I want, Dean,” she says softly, “but I can’t ask you for something you can’t give.”

“Fuck, I’m sorry, Lis.”

Lisa shakes her head.

“You never lied to me, Dean. You told me you had feelings for someone else when we started seeing each other. I just…” She sighs and levels Dean with a smile so small and so heartbreakingly sad that he can’t help but pull her into his arms. 

“I told you I wasn’t just trying to find a replacement father for Ben, and while that was true, I don’t think it was the whole truth,” Lisa mumbles into his chest. “I wanted what I thought I could have had…_should_ have had with Tony. You weren’t him, but I thought maybe you could be close enough. And you seemed to fit that picture so well, I was willing to ignore the signs that this wasn’t going to go where I wanted it to.” 

“You deserve a hell of a lot better than ‘close enough,’ Lis.” Dean says hoarsely.

Pulling back slightly, Lisa presses a chaste kiss against Dean’s cheek, leaving behind a salty dampness as her tear-stained face brushes against him.

“I hope things work out for you and Cas,” she says, “I really do.”

Dean looks at her skeptically and she rolls her eyes, “Okay, you’re right, I don’t mean that _right now_, but I’m saying that to you now because I hope that someday, I can mean it.” 

With a chuckle completely devoid of mirth, Dean wraps his arms around Lisa’s slender frame and squeezes. 

* * *

Smiling gently, Castiel backs slowly out of Claire’s nursery, closing the bedroom door with a soft click. It’s a full hour earlier than her usual bedtime, but the poor tot had been exhausted from the excitement of the party. She had barely eaten dinner before demanding her “ba” and “nigh-nigh.” Castiel looks around the quiet apartment as he makes his way to the kitchen. There isn’t anything left to clean up, Jess and Ellen had made sure of that, chasing Castiel away with terrifying twin glares when he’d attempted to help. 

After making himself a cup of tea in the naughty Shakespeare mug Charlie had gifted him, he settles himself in his bed, stacking pillows behind his back and pulling the blankets up to his waist. It’s just him for the time being, Gabe having run to the shop to prep everything that could be prepped the night before for tomorrow morning’s catering. He’s just turned on the T.V. when his phone rings next to him. Castiel freezes as the caller’s contact info lights up the screen.

Hitting the power button on the remote, he stares at his phone for a long moment before picking it up with a slightly shaking hand.

“Bartholomew.”

“Hello, Castiel. How are you?” his ex says brusquely, sounding as confident and self-assured as Castiel remembers, no sign of relief or surprise that Castiel had actually answered his call, as if the possibility of Castiel _not_ answering had never even crossed his mind.

“Why are you calling me?” 

“_Why?_” Now there’s a hint of surprise in Bartholomew’s voice. “As you know, I have several business contacts in common with your stepfather. One of them told me that you’d been in a car accident. He said you almost _died_, Castiel, that you’re in a _wheelchair_ for goodness’ sake. I think the real question here is why didn’t _you_ call _me_?”

Castiel swallows against the sting of those words. So, his parents do know about his accident. He’s wondered if Gabriel had called them, but hasn’t wanted to ask. They haven’t even reached out to see if he’s okay. Haven’t even sent a card. It isn’t surprising, of course, but still hurts more than Castiel would like to admit. Swallowing again, he forces himself to remember Ellen’s words to him earlier today. It doesn’t matter what Naomi and Zachariah Milton think of him. He doesn’t need them. He and Claire have family here.

Shaking his head and refocusing on his conversation with his ex, he wrinkles his forehead. “Why would I have called you? I didn’t think you had any interest in my life anymore. At least, that’s the impression I got when I came home to our apartment only to find that you had broken our lease and moved out all of your belongings without telling me.” He doesn’t bother to let Bart know that he’s no longer in a wheelchair. He doesn’t want to give his ex any more information about his current life than the man already has.

“Castiel, about that, I acted…brashly. And I regret it.”

“You acted brashly,” Castiel repeats, tone devoid of emotion.

“I panicked,” Bart protests, “The thought of suddenly having a child, of all the changes that would bring. It was just too much, Cassie. I couldn’t cope.”

“You couldn’t cope. _You _couldn’t cope.” 

“Look, it was terrible, I know,” Bart says in a voice that would sound contrite if Castiel didn’t know his ex to be incapable of such a genuine feeling. “I shouldn’t have just left like that, but I’m sorry my love, I truly am. I miss you.”

Pulling the phone away from his face, Castiel stares at it incredulously. 

“Yes, you _left_, Bart. But you didn’t just leave_ me_. You left Claire. You left _both_ of us and you left us _homeless_ to boot.”

“I know, I know,” Bart says, voice cajoling and plaintive, “I made mistakes, terrible mistakes, but I’ll do better this time. I promise you that, Castiel.”

“What are you saying, Bart? What do you want from me?”

“What do I want from you? I want you to come _home_, Castiel. Come let me take care of you. You need me. _Our daughter_ needs me.”

“Claire is _not_ your daughter,” Castiel shouts into the phone, heart thudding erratically. “She doesn’t need you and neither do I. We have family here,” he adds defiantly.

Bart scoffs. “Who? Gabriel? Yes, I heard he’s living with you. It appears that a guilty conscience is good for something after all. But what happens when you’re all better, Castiel? What happens when Gabriel’s guilt has been assuaged? When he realizes that you’re holding him back from his _other _relationships? When helping his brother-the-single-father becomes a barrier to his business, the business he left you to start in the first place? What then? How long do you think before that happens, Castiel? How long before you’re more burden than brother?”

Heart racing and palms sweating, Castiel shakes his head. No. Gabe loves him. He loves Claire. He won’t let Bart convince him otherwise. He’d already let the man keep him and his brother apart for _years_ while they were together, convincing Castiel every time he thought about reaching out that Gabriel didn’t really want to hear from him, didn’t want to be a part of his life. Castiel knows better now, but that doesn’t stop the memories from surfacing.

“No,” he says into the phone. “That won’t happen. Besides, I have more than just Gabe here.”

“Oh, what? That firefighter you’re seeing?”

Castiel isn’t quick enough to stifle his surprised gasp.

Bart chuckles. It’s an ugly, bitter thing. “Yes, I know about him. Did you think I wouldn’t? The big hero who saved you during your accident and has been taking care of you like a pathetic little bird with a broken wing? It sounds like you’ve been quite the project for him, Castiel. But you see, the thing with projects is that eventually, they’re finished. How long until he’s finished with you, I wonder? A man like that, a firefighter, how he must crave adventure. How long until he realizes that the most interesting thing about you, the _only_ interesting thing about you, is that you were in a car accident. It’ll happen, Castiel, and then he’ll leave you too. You know he will. Everyone does.”

Bitter, angry tears fill Castiel’s eyes as Bart gives voice to his innermost insecurities. Every vile, ugly thought he’s had about how his friendship with Dean might end floods his mind. It doesn’t matter. None of it matters. Bartholomew can leave him. His parents can reject and ignore him. Hell, even Dean. Even Dean can leave him. He still has Claire. Still has his baby girl and together, together they’ll be just fine.

Clearly, Bartholomew is the same man he always was, but Castiel, he’s not. 

He takes a deep breath and is at least able to keep his voice from shaking, if not the rest of him, as he says roughly, “Maybe that’s true, Bart, but it doesn’t matter. I’d rather be alone for the rest of my life than spend one more minute of it with you.”

Voice quivering with outrage, Bart spits out in return, “Do you ever wonder why everyone leaves you, Castiel? It’s because you’re never satisfied. Ungrateful. I gave you everything, Castiel. Nice clothes, a beautiful apartment, a life in one of the greatest cities in the world. We had everything we needed, but it just wasn’t good enough for you, was it?”

“Ungrateful?” Castiel asks, bewildered. “All I wanted was to start a family, with _you_. It was never about our life not being good enough, Bart. It was about sharing that life with a child. _Our _child.”

“Face it, Castiel,” Bart sneers, “the real reason you want a child is just so you’ll have one person around who can’t leave you. You’re pathetic. You’re _nothing_, Castiel. _Nothing._”

His ex is still shouting into his receiver when Castiel ends the call.

* * *

Dean’s feeling raw and jittery when he pulls into the parking lot for Cas’ building. Somewhere inside his head, he knows this is a bad idea, that he should just go home and go to bed, talk to Cas in the morning, but he can’t make himself leave. He _needs_ to see Cas. He needs the comfort of his best friend and he needs Cas to know how he feels about him. Besides, if Cas is just going to shut him down again, might as well get all the rejection over with in one day.

And that might very well happen, Dean reminds himself. He knows Cas is attracted to him and he’s pretty sure Cas is into him beyond that, but it’s possible that Cas still isn’t going to be ready to let go of whatever it is that was holding him back from Dean before. Dean has to try though. Now that he knows he’s in love with Cas and that those feelings aren’t just going to fade away in a few weeks or months, he has to try just one more time. 

After all, good things do happen.

When his knock on the door doesn’t get a response, Dean uses his key to let himself in. He’s been much more reluctant to do that since Cas started walking again and their friendship became a little less…intimate. It was one of the new, unspoken boundaries that had sprung up between them. Tonight though, he’s a little concerned when no one answers the door, but hesitates to knock any louder and risk waking Claire up. He figures Gabe must not be home, but Cas definitely is and at only 8:30, it’s unlikely that he’s asleep yet.

When he can’t see Cas sitting in the living room, Dean hesitates.

_Shit_, maybe he has already gone to bed. Taking a few more steps into the apartment, he reaches the dining area and can see down the hall to Cas’ bedroom. The bedroom door is open and he can see Cas in the warm glow of his bedside table lamp, sitting up in bed, staring down at the phone held loosely in his lap. Dean makes his way back to the master bedroom and taps on the doorframe, apparently startling his friend, who jolts, the cellphone dropping to the floor with a dull thud.

“Sorry,” Dean says immediately. “Didn’t mean to scare you. I knocked, but no one answered.”

“Dean?” Cas asks, staring at him in confusion before shaking his head. “It’s okay. I was just lost in thought. I’m sorry. I didn’t even hear you knock.”

“Something wrong?” Cas looks unusually pale, especially in the golden glow of the lamp.

“It’s nothing,” Cas shakes his head dismissively and starts to bend toward the floor to pick up his phone.

Moving quickly, Dean kneels next to the bed, scooping up the cellphone before handing it to Cas. 

“Thank you,” Cas says quietly before adding, “Dean, what are you doing here?” He looks down at the bedsheets. “It sounded like Lisa had plans for the two of you tonight.”

“We broke up,” Dean says plainly, before clearing his throat, “We both realized that we can’t be what the other one wants. Cas—”

“Ellen was right,” Cas interrupts, eyebrows lifting in surprise.

Allowing himself to be momentarily distracted from his big confession (_You’re a goddamn coward, you know that right, Winchester?)_, Dean snorts. “She usually is, but don’t tell her I said that. What’s she right about this time?”

“She said that you and Lisa were comfortable together, but not happy. She said she didn’t see you together much longer.”

Dean shakes his head fondly. Of course, she would see that. He bets she knows exactly what and who_ would _make Dean happy too. He should have known better than to think he could fool that woman. A mother always knows, right?

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean admits softly, looking up at Cas from where he’s still kneeling on the floor. “She was right. Turns out, there’s only one person who could make me happy right now.”

“Dean,” Cas starts, already shaking his head, his expression so unbearably sad that it reminds Dean forcibly of the way Lisa looked at him earlier tonight, except this hurts even more.

“Listen, Cas. I know. I know you said you don’t want a romantic relationship with me and I know you have your reasons, but I also know that you _do_ feel something for me. Something more than friendship. And if what you feel for me is even _half_ of what I feel for you, I don’t know how you can refuse to give us a chance,” Dean says pleadingly, pouring his heart out on his knees.

“Dean,” Cas says again, tears pooling in crystal blue eyes. “Please. I can’t. I can’t talk about this tonight. Not tonight.”

“Then when, Cas?” Dean asks, voice rising in desperation, though still mindful of the sleeping toddler down the hall. “When are we gonna talk about it? Are we just gonna keep doing this thing where we sit two feet away from one another at all times, trying to pretend that we don’t wanna be closer? Are we gonna keep dating other people, telling ourselves that this’ll all just magically go away if we ignore it long enough? I don’t want to ignore it, Cas.”

“You don’t understand. I can’t do this right now, Dean. I just…I need some space. I need to think.”

Cas is visibly shrinking in on himself now, knees curling up against his chest and looking so small, so vulnerable that it makes Dean’s heart ache in his chest. For a moment he sees Cas trapped in that imaginary burning house again, wreathed in flames the same way his mom had been. Wanting more than anything to pull Cas out of that hell the same way he’d pulled him out of that nightmare when they first met, he places a hand on Cas’ knee.

“Please, Cas. I don’t know what you’re so afraid of, but I want to help you. Please, just let me help you. Let me take care of you.”

Like a switch has flipped, Cas’ eyes widen and he jerks his leg away from Dean.

“I’m not your project,” he spits, pushing himself further upright in bed. “I’m not something you can fix, Dean.”

“What? I know that,” Dean protests, forehead scrunching in frustration and confusion. “Where is this coming from?”

“This might all be some…adventure to you, Dean, saving me, helping me and Claire, playing house with us, but this is my _life._ This is it for me, Dean. This is all I am. And when the novelty wears off for you, this is still all I’ll be.”

“_Playing house_?” Dean rockets to his feed. “Is that what you think I’m doing? You think this, you, Claire is all some kind of game to me? Something I’m just gonna get bored with a few months, hell, a few years from now?” 

Dean clenches his fists at his side, feeling his hackles rise. How can Cas honestly think that about him?

“How do you know it’s not? Claire—”

“No,” Dean cuts in sharply, “Don’t you do that. If you’re too scared to give us a shot then fine, Cas, but you own that shit. Don’t you put this on Claire…or on me. I love that little girl like she’s my own and you fucking know it. I know kids aren’t kisses and cuddles all the time, Cas. But I don’t just want that. I want the diapers, the teething, the lost hours of sleep at night. I want it all.” 

* * *

“You don’t mean that, Dean. You can’t.” 

Why, why is he arguing? Dean’s saying everything Castiel has ever wanted him to say, everything he’s ever wanted and needed to hear from someone.

_Bart used to say a lot of things too._

_Bart made promises._

_Bart promised he’d never leave._

_Dean’s not Bart._

_Dean’s not Bart._

_Dean’s not Bart._

Castiel shakes his head frantically, his thoughts swirling and racing. Every vile thing Bart said during their phone conversation, every painful memory from their relationship, every ugly, deep-set fear and insecurity Castiel has ever had about himself plays on a time-lapsed loop in his mind.

_Everyone leaves you, Castiel._

_You aren’t worth sticking around for._

_You’re boring, and bookish, and awkward._

_Dean will see that. It’s only a matter of time._

_How long, Castiel? How long until Dean leaves you?_

_How long?_

“Don’t tell me what I mean and don’t mean. I know what I want. I want a family, Cas. The whole apple-pie-life,” Dean adds, giving voice to a desire Castiel hasn’t allowed himself to indulge in since that day he’d come home to find Bart’s belongings missing from their apartment. No, Dean can’t offer him that. Castiel can’t lose that dream again.

“That’s not what Lydia said,” he blurts out, feeling instantly horrified with himself. He didn’t mean that. Why did he say that? He sees the shock and rage play out across Dean’s face and hates himself for it.

“What Lydia said? I can only imagine what Lydia said, but here let me tell you everything I’m sure Lydia _didn’t_ say.” Dean continues in an expressionless tone that chills Castiel’s insides. “She was my first serious girlfriend after Cassie. Things heated up between us pretty fast, though we agreed to take things slow. For a while, it seemed like we were on the same page, but after a few months, she was already dropping hints about a ring…and a family. I tried to talk to her about it, tried to explain that I just wasn’t ready for that yet. I was _twenty-one_, Cas, and just starting to get my life back together. She kept pushing and I was on the verge of breaking up with her.”

He pauses, taking a deep breath and Castiel waits, a sinking feeling growing in his stomach over what’s coming next.

“The morning after I’d decided to end things, she shows up at the firehouse, crying and clutching a positive pregnancy test. She said her birth control must have failed, begged me not to leave her and the baby. I was terrified, but I wanted to do the right thing, you know? So, I told her I’d stay. And for while, things seemed okay. A few weeks later, she brought me an ultrasound picture and we started talking about baby names, was gonna be Emma if it was a girl. I actually started to get excited about the idea of being a dad, as scared shitless as I still was.”

Dean runs a hand through his hair, resting it on the back of his neck, before pushing on, “Then, after a couple more weeks, she doesn’t return my calls for a few days. When I finally get ahold of her, freaking out, she tells me she had a miscarriage, lost the baby, and just needed some time on her own, to deal. I spent the night holding her while she cried, telling her we’d try again someday, that it’d be okay. The next morning, I grab my phone so I can call Bobby and tell him I’m not gonna make it in and I have text message from an unknown number, telling me to check my email.”

Castiel can’t breathe. Why can’t he breathe?

“I used her computer to check my email, while she was still layin’ there, asleep in bed. The email was from a friend of hers, a _pregnant_ friend of hers. She told me Lydia had made the whole thing up. She was never pregnant. The test and sonogram belonged to the friend. She knew I was gonna break up with her and was trying to find a way to stop me. Apparently, she’d even gone off her birth control, hoping to get pregnant for real, but when that didn’t happen, she faked the miscarriage so I wouldn’t figure it out. The email had screenshots of their AIM conversations to prove it. 

So, I left the screenshots up on her computer screen, grabbed my stuff, and hightailed it the hell outta there.”

Feeling the room spin beneath him, Castiel fists his hands in the bedsheets in a futile attempt to ground himself.

“Dean,” he chokes out, “I’m sorry. I didn’t know.”

“No,” Dean says darkly, crossing his arms in front of him, “you didn’t, but instead of just coming to me, _asking_ me about it, you decided to just believe what she said.”

Castiel shakes his head, the lump in his throat making it impossible to talk. He didn’t. He didn’t believe Lydia, not really, but Dean will never believe that now.

Dean sighs, looking heart-broken and defeated, looking exactly how Castiel feels.

“You know what, Cas? I think maybe you’re right. Maybe we do need some space.” His voice trembles on the last word, but his face looks resolved and Castiel knows this is it. This is the moment he loses Dean.

He closes his eyes.

_Balthazar didn’t return your call yet? I suppose the life of a school teacher must seem pretty boring to someone like that. Forget him, Castiel. You have me now._

_You’re not going out tonight are you? Yes, I know you’ve had these plans for ages, but I’m going to have to work late every night for the rest of the week. You complain that I don’t spend enough time with you, but now when I try to make time for you, you want to leave? _

_Gabriel? Why would you want to call him? He left you, Castiel. Where was Gabriel when your parents disowned you for being gay? Was he the one here, picking up the pieces when Balthazar broke things off? No, but I was. I was here for you, Castiel. _

_Do you ever wonder why everyone leaves you, Castiel?_

_You’re pathetic. You’re nothing, Castiel. Nothing._

Castiel shudders as the memories surround him, suffocate him, grab at him and pull him down like the invisible hands that had gripped him during that waking nightmare he’d experienced in the hospital.

“Do you mind,” Dean swallows and scrubs a hand roughly across his eyes, “do you mind if I say goodbye to Claire? I won’t wake her up, I just want…” Dean’s obviously fighting back tears now and Castiel wants to comfort him, to tell him he’s sorry, he didn’t mean any of it, but he can’t. Can’t move. Can’t breathe. Can’t think.

He manages a nod as a tear slips down his cheek.

Dean turns and leaves the room. A moment later, Castiel startles as he hears Dean’s voice on the baby monitor.

“Heya, Blondie. I just wanted to say that uh, I won’t be around for a while.” Dean pauses, seemingly too choked up to continue. After a moment he continues wetly, “I don’t know how long I’ll be gone for, but I just want you to know that it’s not your fault, baby. It’s not anyone’s fault. Not really. But no matter what, I want you to know that I love you. I love you so much, Claire.”

After a long pause, Castiel hears Dean’s voice again, this time much closer to baby monitor.

“Goodbye, Cas.”

Every part of Castiel longs for Dean and suddenly he’s trapped in that SUV again, desperate to call out to the firefighter, to beg Dean to stay with him. The words remain trapped in his throat, his vocal chords paralyzed by a different kind of trauma this time, less physical, but no less real. 

Unlike the day of his accident, Dean doesn’t seem to read his mind. 

Dean leaves.

Hearing the apartment door click softly closed behind the man he now knows for certain he’s in love with, the spell over Castiel finally breaks and he collapses onto his bed, pillows muffling his sobs.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: This is where the "heavy angst" tag I added a while back comes into play, friends. Also heed the tags for panic attacks, PTSD, and emotional abuse (I'm sure you can guess which douche nozzle that's in reference to). 
> 
> Fuck, I'm sorry.
> 
> Really, really sorry.
> 
> But the birthday party was cute, right? After you're done yelling at me in the comments (which is entirely deserved, I know), I'd love to know what you thought of the party and Gabe's cake. He's not the most subtle wingman, our Gabe.
> 
> I'm also itching to know your thoughts on the big angst? Who's at fault here? Who are you most upset with (aside from the author, of course, that's a given)?
> 
> Did I mention i'm sorry?
> 
> Thank you all so much for reading and in case you're doubting me, I once again promise you that this story WILL have a happy ending!! A happy ending and multiple time stamps elaborating on the happy. Just hold on.
> 
> Next Week: We'll check in with our boys and see how they're doing with their "space."


	19. Chapter 19

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Our boys get that space they both said they wanted... And yeah, it goes just as well as you'd think it would.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You guys. YOU GUYS.
> 
> Your comments on the last chapter... I just, they were amazing? I can't even tell you how much your kind words, your support, and your _feelings_ about this story mean to me. You are all so very incredible and I am so unbelievably grateful for all of your phenomenal comments and the mentions on Discord, on Facebook, and on Twitter! 💖💖💖
> 
> To thank you in the best way I know how, I decided to give you an early update this week. And make sure to check out the end notes, both before you read for those very important content warnings and after you read the chapter for an additional surprise!
> 
> Happy New Year to all! I hope this year treats you well! ❤❤❤

** _Sunday, February 10, 2019_ **

The insistent pounding on his front door echoing in his skull, Dean squints at the late afternoon sun filtering in through his faded living room curtains as he makes his way across the worn carpet. He’s spent so much time in Cas’ much larger and nicer apartment over the past few months, that his now seems even smaller and sadder in comparison. Or maybe that’s just Dean. 

He makes a half-hearted attempt at rubbing the sleep from his eyes as he nears the entryway and glances at his reflection in the mirror that still hangs on his coat closet door. His eyes are red-rimmed and bloodshot and his hair is sticking up on one side, matching the pillow creases on his cheek. Those would be more noticeable if he’d bothered to shave recently, but as it is, they’re mostly hidden by two-days-worth of scraggle. His threadbare AC/DC t-shirt has a giant hole in the armpit and really qualifies as more of a rag than even a sleep shirt at this point, but fuck it. Dean’s said goodbye to enough things in his life for the time being, thank-you-very-fucking-much.

Maybe he should have put on pants before coming to the door, he thinks, looking at his faded black boxer-briefs in the mirror. Oh well. People who expect proper clothing shouldn’t be knocking on his fucking door at—he glances at the clock on his living room wall—three-thirty in the afternoon. Oh.

Shrugging anyway, he pulls open the door to reveal Charlie, fist still raised in a very obvious I’m-going-to-keep-knocking-until-the-nerfherder-on-the-other-side-of-this-door-answers stance. Her mouth’s opening to speak before Dean even has the door properly opened, probably to berate him for the dozen or so missed calls and text messages he’s mostly ignored from her over the past couple of weeks. She freezes when she sees him though, mouth falling into a silent “O.”

Charlie drops her hand from its knocking position. “Dude, you look like shit.”

“Good to see you too, Red,” he responds with an eye roll, stepping back to let her into the apartment. 

Taking a look around at the dusty shelves, scattered clothing on the floor, and half-empty dishes stacked next to the sink, his normally chipper friend lets out a low whistle. “And your place… don’t get me wrong, it’s still cleaner than my apartment, but for you? I’m surprised you haven’t called FEMA.”

“If you wanted clean, you should have called first,” Dean says grumpily, following Charlie into the living room and determinedly trying not to feel mortified about the boxer shorts and dirty socks peeking out from beneath the sofa. He hadn’t realized just how much he’d let his normally tidy apartment go until Charlie pointed it out.

“Why?” the petite redhead whirls on him, danger in her eyes, “So you could ignore _that_ call too, just like you’ve ignored every other call and message I’ve sent you since your birthday?”

“Hey,” he protests lamely, “I responded to some of the messages.”

Charlie rolls her eyes. “Sure, single-word Neanderthal responses insisting that you’re ‘fine, can’t, busy.’” Charlie rumbles out each word in a mock-caveman voice. “I’m amazed you didn’t figure out how to grunt over text message.”

Holding up a finger, Dean flops down on the couch and digs his phone out from between the couch cushions where he’d discarded it last night. It’s not like he has much use for it these days. The person he’d texted and talked to most was Cas. He swipes around for a moment and then smirks at the buzzing coming from Charlie’s pocket. Dropping the shopping bag she’d been carrying on the coffee table, she squints at him suspiciously before pulling out her phone.

Opening the message notification, she rolls her eyes before turning it to face him. “Cute.”

Today, 3:42 PM

Dean SENT:

Ungh.

Leaning back against the couch cushions and digging deep, Dean summons his trademark smirk. “I think I’m adorable.” 

Seemingly unmoved, Her Highness, Queen of Moons, picks up the shopping bag and swings it at Dean, hitting him solidly in the stomach before she heads to kitchen, returning a moment later with two spoons.

“What’s in here?” Dean grunts, rubbing his belly as he digs through the bag one-handed. Inside, he finds a bag of Red Vines, two bags of beef jerky (including chili-lime, his favorite), an assortment of Slim Jims, and a pint of rocky road. He looks up to see his friend cueing up _A New Hope_ on the TV and winces. This is the classic Charlie Bradbury-Dean Winchester post-breakup package. Last time they did this was after Charlie broke up with her ex-girlfriend, Dorothy, when it became apparent that Dorothy’s wanderlust was never going to be satisfied with a partner who was tied to the same location for ten months out of the year.

“So, I take it you figured out what happened?” he asks grumpily as Charlie settles herself on the couch next to him.

She hums, sitting cross-legged and wiggling down into the cushions against Dean’s side, before handing him a spoon. He _almost_ chuckles. Charlie is basically a cat in human form: regal and 100% self-assured always, affectionate and cuddly when it suits her, and terrifyingly fierce when provoked. 

“I know _something_ happened, but I’m a bit fuzzy on the details.” She pulls the top off the rocky road container and tilts it toward Dean invitingly. “Lisa?”

Snatching the remote from its place on Charlie’s folded knee, he presses play and takes a scoop of rocky road, before leaning back against the sofa cushions.

“Movie’s starting,” he grunts around his mouthful of ice cream, gesturing at the screen with his spoon.

With a resigned, but affectionate (because Dean’s adorable) eye roll, Charlie takes her own spoonful of rocky road as Leia’s voice washes over them, telling Obi Wan he’s her only hope.

It’s hours later, the ice cream is gone, the Red Vines are dwindling, and Leia’s about to tell Han she loves him when Dean finally presses pause.

“We broke up.” 

“You and Lisa?” Charlie checks and Dean shoots her a look.

“She’s the only one I was dating, so yeah.”

“Uh huh,” Charlie agrees carefully. “Soooo, Lisa’s the reason you haven’t shaven in three days and your apartment smells like old Doritos?”

“It doesn’t smell like…” Dean cuts off as he spots the mostly-empty Doritos bag sitting open on the dining room table over Charlie’s shoulder.

He rolls his eyes, “Okay, point. And no, Lisa’s not the reason.” Feeling suddenly restless, he stands and walks over to the living room window. Pushing aside the dingy sheers, he slides the window open in the hopes of de-nachoing his apartment.

“And would the _actual _reason happen to have dreamy blue eyes, a five o’clock shadow at eight A.M., and _also_ be ignoring my calls?”

“We had a fight,” he says bluntly.

“O-kay,” Charlie responds slowly, “And?”

He shrugs. “And we’re done.”

“Done with the fight?”

He swallows. “Done with our friendship.”

Looking at him disbelievingly, Charlie says, “Maybe you should start from the beginning.”

So, he does. It’s stilted, and not always in the right order, and sometimes he has to go back and explain parts of it for Charlie to make heads or tails of what he’s talking about (_“Wait, Lydia? How the hell does Cas know Lydia?”_), but eventually, the entire sordid story has been pulled out of him as he paces between the window and the sofa. No one can get him to open-up and spill his guts quite like Charlie. Well, and Sam. And Ellen. Bobby. Benny’s pretty good at it too.

_Christ, Winchester. Is there anyone who can’t read you like a goddamn book?_

_Cas, apparently, _Dean thinks back at himself glumly. 

“And then,” he finishes woodenly, “I told him if that’s what he thought of me, then maybe he was right… maybe we did need some space after all.” His voice definitely does not wobble on that last bit.

“Oh, Dean,” Charlie says sadly, looking up at him with wide, green, tear-filled eyes.

He collapses on the couch next to her, dropping his head into his hands. “Why’d I say that, Charlie? Space? Space is the _last_ thing I’d ever want from Cas. But I always fucking do that.” Dean’s voice turns bitter and disparaging as he hashes out what he’s been going over in his own head for the past few weeks. “I push. I find someone’s weak spot and I push, and I dig, and I root around in there until I find the right goddamn button to press to get a reaction.”

He looks into Charlie’s soft, sympathetic eyes. “He was begging me to stop Charlie. _Begging _me. Why couldn’t I just leave well enough alone? Now I’ve lost him. And I’ve lost… Claire.” This time, Dean’s voice definitely does break on Claire’s name and he cuts off, swallowing roughly and choking back the sob that threatens. It’s not that he’s afraid to cry or even that he’s afraid to cry in front of Charlie. Wouldn’t be the first time. It’s just that Dean’s cried enough in the past weeks and if he starts again now, he feels like he may never stop.

At that, Charlie’s eyes harden and her face falls into the same stubborn set it does before she leads her army into battle on the verdant fields of Moondor. “Dean, no. Well enough? There’s nothing ‘well enough’ about your relationship with Cas. The two of you have been doing this ‘will we, won’t we’ dance for _months_ now. I know he hasn’t meant to and I know the guy has like, a _lot_ going on right now, but even so, Cas can’t just keep playing hot and cold with your heart. He _needed_ a push.”

“Yeah,” Dean snorts derisively, “And I pushed him all right. Pushed him right out the door.”

“This isn’t your fault, Dean.” Charlie insists stubbornly, then sighs. “And it’s not his fault either. Damn it, this is the problem with being friends with both of you. I’m not sure who I’m supposed to be mad at here.”

“Don’t be mad at him, Charles,” Dean says softly. “It’s like you said, dude’s got a lot going on right now. Plus, he’s got a lot of shit he’s still dealing with from way before the accident. He’s gonna need a friend.” The fact that _Dean_ won’t be that friend slices at his insides.

“Well, I am mad at him. I’m mad at him for hurting you, for hurting himself, for shutting everyone out… for shutting _me_ out. Aren’t you mad at him?”

“Of course, I’m mad. I’m pissed,” Dean says sharply and it feels… weirdly good to say it out loud, to get it out of him. “Why does he have to be so stubborn, so… goddamn _proud_, all the time? Why can’t he ever just let someone else take a little of the load? We were right here, Charlie. I was _right here_. I _am_ right here. But I don’t know how to keep him from pushing me away.” He sighs, feeling the anger leak out of him like toxic, black sludge. 

“Maybe you should tell him all that,” Charlie suggests quietly.

Dean shakes his head. “I think that door’s closed,” he says sadly.

Still not willing to give up, Charlie looks over the back of the sofa, to where the cold winter’s breeze ruffles the sheer curtain. “Then maybe you should look for a window.”

“I left him, Charles,” Dean says softly. The thing that’s been bothering him the most, that’s been in the background, haunting every waking thought since Dean walked out of Castiel’s apartment that night, finally makes its way past his lips. “The guy that everyone leaves. I promised him, promised _myself,_ that I never would, then as soon as things got hard, I just… left. Like everyone else.”

Instead of answering, Charlie wraps her slender arms around Dean’s shoulders and rests her chin on his shoulder. They sit like that for quite some time before he feels Charlie’s lips press softly against the hairline at his temple. 

“I love you,” she whispers.

Dean musters up a half-hearted smile for his friend.

“I know.”

* * *

** _Monday, February 11, 2019_ **

Hands shaking violently, Castiel reaches for the steering wheel and tightens his grip until the blood has drained from his fingers, leaving them pale and ghostly against the black leather. He pulls in ragged breaths and listens to his heart thundering in his ears, wishing it was loud enough to drown out the sound of propellers as the medevac slowly rises from the flattened grass of its makeshift landing pad, in the field less than 100 yards from Castiel’s new-to-him Honda Pilot. He wants to look away, to close his eyes, to block out the sight of the helicopter steadily gaining altitude in front of him, but his sight is riveted to the hovering mass of metal and he watches, helpless. 

Finally, as the medevac shrinks to nothing more than a tiny black speck in the distance, Castiel is able to tear his eyes away and force his gaze back inside the vehicle. The first thing his eyes land on is the olive cover of the journal and planner Missouri had recommended he start keeping in preparation for his return to the busy life of a school teacher in just a few short weeks’ time. 

“Green,” he says aloud, even though he’s alone in the car. He finds that the mindfulness strategy Dean taught him works better when he can hear the words. “My journal.”

Not having anything else green in the car, he raises his eyes to the road in front of him. The other cars have all started moving again, Castiel having pulled off onto the shoulder, and the ambulance and police cruiser that had transported the accident victim to the waiting medevac have both left. The accident must have happened nearby, somewhere where the helicopter couldn’t land. In fact, if it weren’t for the slight depression still visible in the tall grass, there would be absolutely no indication someone was fighting for their life here only minutes ago.

“Grass,” Castiel says, even though in February it’s really more brown than green. He looks at the intersection next to him.

“Stoplight. Street sign.”

_Dean’s eyes._

A sudden flashback of warm, summer-green eyes with gold flecks, searching his own for signs of alertness assaults Castiel.

_Like sunshine through the trees_, he remembers.

Shaking his head to dispel the memory, he searches his surroundings for something, anything else that’s green, but it’s no use. The only green he can focus on right now is the comforting green of Dean’s gaze.

Instead, he tries another exercise, one he learned from Missouri this time.

“A bug on the windshield. An empty coffee cup on the ground. Graffiti on the speed limit sign. A pothole in the center of the road. Someone’s lost shoe.” Castiel lists five things he can see, then moves on to four things he can feel.

“The cold leather wrapping on the steering wheel. The irritating seam of my sock against my toes. The heat from the air vents. The softness of my scarf against my face.”

_Dean’s forehead, pressed against mine._

Three things he can hear.

“The sound of cars driving by. A car alarm in the distance. The ridiculously loud bass from that car stopped at the intersection.”

_A whisper. Stay with me, sweetheart._

Two things he can smell.

“Gasoline. Exhaust.”

_The way Dean’s aftershave mixes with Claire’s baby lotion when he’s been holding her._

One thing he can taste.

Not even bothering to name something this time, Castiel unclenches his fingers from the steering wheel and puts the Pilot in drive, carefully merging back into traffic while trying desperately not to remember the taste of Dean’s lips.

He pulls into the parking lot of Missouri’s building nearly twenty minutes late for his appointment and can’t decide whether he’s relieved or disappointed when the therapist doesn’t mention it. Instead, after greeting him as warmly as ever (and offering him one of the oatmeal raisin cookies he’s become so fond of), she immediately launches into the one topic Castiel was hoping to avoid.

“You rescheduled our session last week. Does this time work better for you?”

Missouri’s tone is as neutral and nonjudgmental as always, but Castiel still feels himself bristling at the observation.

“Yes. I didn’t have childcare. Thank you for making my appointments earlier. I’m driving myself now, so it’s much easier to get here during the day, while Claire’s still at daycare.”

“I take it you were able to find a satisfactory vehicle then? Dean was helping you look, wasn’t he?”

Castiel swallows. 

In fact, it had only been a few days before their… before Dean’s birthday party, when Dean had taken Castiel to the local car dealership where they had found an online listing for a used Pilot that met both Dean’s strict list of quality requirements and Castiel’s desired safety features, while still falling within the modest budget of a school teacher. Dean had inspected every inch of the SUV, making quite the show of being a “car guy,” his rapid-fire questions and disappointed clucking noises when the salesman was unable to answer them clearly putting the guy off balance. Castiel had barely suppressed his grin as Dean had expertly haggled the man down more than $2,000 from the sticker price. They’d even included new floor mats in the deal.

“Yes. I recently purchased a Honda Pilot,” he answers simply.

The interested gleam in Missouri’s eye tells Castiel that she’s clocked his omission of Dean, but she leaves it for now.

“And how is driving going?”

Sighing, Castiel tells her about the medevac and the panic attack that made him late for his appointment today. Missouri praises him for his handling of the situation, particularly for remembering to use his mindfulness strategies, though she does worry about him driving home.

“I’m concerned about you driving after an attack like that, Castiel. Panic attacks aren’t just emotionally and mentally draining, they have a physical impact as well. How are you feeling right now?”

“Exhausted,” he admits, “and still a little shaky.”

“Is there someone who could pick Claire up for you, so you can go straight home after this?”

“I suppose I could call Gabriel and see if he can leave the shop a little early,” Castiel concedes. He really does feel tired. Curling up in his bed and not moving the rest of the night sounds ideal.

“What about Dean?” Missouri asks innocently. “Is he working?”

Rubbing his temple, which is suddenly starting to throb, Castiel answers, “Dean and I… aren’t exactly speaking right now.”

Missouri hums in acknowledgement. “So, was this just a fight, or did the two of you break up?”

He stares at her.

“Break up? Missouri, Dean and I weren’t dating.”

“Weren’t you?” 

“No!” Castiel exclaims. He rubs his temple again, mumbling, “that was the entire problem, really.”

“That you weren’t dating?”

“That Dean wanted to,” Castiel clarifies. 

“And you didn’t.” Missouri says it as a statement, but her face is clearly skeptical. 

“No. I mean, it’s not that I didn’t… It doesn’t matter what I wanted.”

“And why is that?” 

Castiel opens his mouth. Closes it.

All of the old reasons, _excuses,_ he had for keeping Dean at arms-length suddenly seem so trivial. 

What had he told Dean? That he didn’t have time for a relationship? Dean had fit into their life, their routine, so seamlessly. He’s sure it would have taken some adjusting once he went back to work, but Castiel knows in his heart, has known for a long time now, that Dean would have fit into that life as well. He wouldn’t have placed any extra demands on Castiel’s time or energy, but would have devoted his own time and energy to lessening Castiel’s burdens.

And his worries about introducing Claire to a new partner? About risking Claire losing another father? Well, that’s certainly what happened isn’t it? It tears Castiel’s heart in two every time Claire asks for Dean, which happens with some frequency. Dean had admitted to loving Claire like she was his own and the feeling is definitely mutual. Yes, Claire did lose a father when she lost Dean, but the only one Castiel has to blame for that is himself. 

Clearing his throat, he finally answers Missouri, his voice rough, “It doesn’t matter, because he’s gone. It’s over. I was terrible to him,” Castiel’s voice trembles, “and he left. I’ll be lucky if he’s ever willing to speak to me again, let alone risk a romantic relationship with me.”

“Has he said that?”

Castiel gapes at her. “Of course not. That’s where the ‘we’re not talking,’ part comes in.”

“I _know_ you’re not sassin’ me,” Missouri says, eyebrows arching even as her eyes stay glued to her notebook, where she’s presumably scribbling down notes about the sad, pathetic remains of Castiel’s love life.

He rolls his eyes.

“And I know you’re not rollin’ your eyes at me, either,” the therapist chides, without glancing up from her notes.

Castiel starts, then blushes. “Sorry,” he mumbles before releasing another sigh. “I rejected him, Missouri.” He huffs a bitter laugh. “Twice. He’d be a fool to give me another chance.” 

Little by little, Castiel finds himself telling Missouri the entire story of the explosive ending to he and Dean’s friendship. Without offering any details, he tells her about how he and Dean were intimate and then Castiel rejected him. He tells her about Lisa and his jealousy. He tells her about all the times he could feel Dean trying to get closer to him, all the times he flirted with Dean and drew him in, only to then push him away as soon as he got too close. He tells her about that night, about his phone conversation with Bart and his subsequent argument with Dean. Finally, he tells her how he just sat there and watched Dean walk out of his life, how he couldn’t even ask him to stay. 

“Well, it sounds like you both have some work to do when it comes to communicating and setting healthy boundaries in your relationship.”

Castiel cocks an eyebrow and readies himself to correct Missouri once again, but she cuts him off.

“A _friendship_ is a relationship too, Castiel. Don’t you give me that stink eye.” Missouri cocks her own, slightly amused, eyebrow at Castiel before continuing, “All relationships take work. If you’re both willing to put in the effort, I don’t think there’s any reason to consider this one finished.”

“Dean would be a fool to give me another chance,” he repeats.

Missouri hums.

“Did you know that Dean calls me on my birthday?”

“He does?” Castiel squints at the non-sequitur. He knows that Missouri must have some point she’s making here, but he lets it go in favor of hearing more about Dean. Even thinking about the man makes it hurt to breathe, but Castiel’s traitorous heart still leaps at the chance to hear something, anything, about his former friend.

“Every year,” Missouri nods. “Sends me a Christmas card too.” 

Castiel smiles in spite of himself. To the casual observer, tough firefighter Dean Winchester would seem like the last person to sit at his dining room table dutifully addressing Christmas card envelopes, but Castiel can picture it perfectly in his mind’s eye—Dean, wearing his flannel pajama pants and one of his faded band t-shirts, bobbing his head to Mariah Carey’s _All I Want for Christmas_ (Dean had denied it, but Castiel knows he heard him singing that song under his breath as he prepared Christmas dinner at Bobby and Ellen’s), as he addresses every envelope by hand. 

“I didn’t know that,” he says softly, looking away so Missouri won’t see the tears welling in his eyes.

“And when he heard I was moving offices a couple years back, that boy spent an entire afternoon moving furniture around this place until everything was just the way I wanted it. I told him he didn’t need to, but he insisted. Said he knew I’d change my mind at least half a dozen times and he didn’t want me trying to rearrange things on my own after the movers left.” She smiles fondly.

“That sounds like him,” Castiel agrees, the familiar ache behind his sternum threatening to overwhelm him.

“The point is, Castiel, Dean hasn’t been my client in more than five years. Leaving people behind isn’t really something he does.” 

“Well, he seems to have managed it with me.” Castiel tries (and fails) to keep the petulant tone out of his voice. 

Unimpressed, Missouri arches an eyebrow. “It doesn’t seem to me like you really gave him another option. Is there a different way you would have liked that conversation to end?”

“It doesn’t really matter now, does it?” he snaps. “Either way, Dean and I are no longer friends.”

“And you seem determined to keep it that way. Any particular reason for that?” 

Castiel shakes his head, but answers, “You said Dean doesn’t leave people behind, but he _should_ leave me behind. I’m a mess, Missouri. I shouldn’t have let myself get close to Dean in the first place and I certainly shouldn’t upend his life up any more than I already have. I have nothing to offer someone like Dean. I just ruin everything I touch. I’m poison,” he finishes, his voice barely a whisper.

Missouri doesn’t say anything for a long time. Castiel keeps his eyes on the ground, studying the fringe on the rug in front of his armchair like it’s a museum-quality tapestry and not something Missouri told him she’d found in the clearance section of the local home goods store. He can feel her eyes on him though. Weighing, considering.

“You know, an interesting thing about trauma, is that sometimes a new trauma can trigger a response to an older trauma, even if the two aren’t directly related. For example,” she says gently, “someone who was in a traumatic car accident and has panic attacks while in a vehicle might also find themselves more susceptible to panic attacks caused by triggers that don’t involve a car, triggers they might even have been entirely unaware of up until this point.”

“Triggers like what?” Castiel asks timidly, both fearing and needing to hear the answer.

“Triggers like a conversation with an abusive ex-partner, for one.”

Castiel winces, but doesn’t otherwise respond.

“There are also different kinds of trauma. There’s acute trauma, like your car accident,” Missouri says with an acknowledging nod to Castiel, “and there’s another type of trauma, called chronic trauma, that’s caused by prolonged or repeated exposure to one or more traumatic events. The trauma response caused by these events may not be immediate. It can build slowly, over weeks, months, or even years, with each new occurrence layering overtop the old, sometimes stemming all the way back to childhood.”

She pauses. “This type of trauma is often associated with cases of family or domestic violence.”

Eyes cast down, Castiel shakes his head repeatedly.

“No one was ever violent with me.”

“There’s more than once type of violence, Castiel,” Missouri explains, voice gentle but certain. “When we did your intake appointment, I asked if you’ve experienced mental or emotional abuse in any of your past relationships.”

Still shaking his head, he doesn’t offer up any other response, so Missouri continues, “It was clearly difficult for you, but you answered yes. I think it might be time to revisit that conversation.”

“No,” Castiel finds his voice. It’s hoarse and pleading.

“It’s your choice, but understanding your past trauma and pursuing treatment for it may be helpful not only in avoiding future panic attacks, but in building a solid foundation for a new relationship, should you choose to pursue one.”

“I said, no,” Castiel protests loudly. “I’m not paying you to talk about my relationships, past or present. I’m paying you to talk to me about the trauma I suffered in my _car accident_. I don’t need relationship advice, I need to know how to not drive off the road every time I see a goddamn Medevac!” He’s practically shouting by the end and though he knows this is doing nothing at all to disprove Missouri’s point, he’s helpless to stop.

“You’re absolutely right, Castiel,” Missouri says softly. “My apologies. You go back to work in a few weeks. How are you feeling about that transition?”

Castiel gapes at her. _What?_

“What?”

Missouri blinks.

“Your job? You go back next month, correct? You’ve mentioned several times how stressed you were feeling in the days leading up to your accident. We can start working on some strategies to help you manage the stress of your workload once you go back.”

“That’s it? You’re not going to push? About the relationship thing? The _Dean_ thing?”

“That’s not what you pay me for, now is it?” Missouri softens the sting of her words with an understanding smile, though they still make her point clearly enough. 

Chastened, Castiel looks down at his hands. “I’m sorry, Missouri. I shouldn’t have raised my voice like that. I just...” his voice breaks as he looks up and catches the therapist’s eye. “I can’t.”

Soulful brown eyes hold his, seeming to look both _into_ him and _through_ him at the same time. 

“You’re not ready yet,” Missouri says thoughtfully. She watches him a moment longer, then with a sudden, secretive smile, reaches across the table and pats his clasped hands with one of her own.

“But you will be.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: symptoms/red flags for depression, panic attack, discussions of trauma and emotional abuse
> 
> Okay, I know. This chapter ended on a hopeful note, but overall, it was sad. I gave you a present and my present hurt you. Well, I can't very well just leave you like this, can I? So guess what? You get ANOTHER chapter! HOWEVER, there's a bonus to your bonus: you get to vote for your favorite of the following two choices (and I know how much this fandom _loves_ to vote for things 😂)! 
> 
> 1) You can choose to for me to update again and post Chapter 20 on Friday (the day this chapter was supposed to post), which means you'll get 2 chapters this week.
> 
> OR
> 
> 2) There is one more big cliffhanger coming in this story. You can choose to forgo the Friday update (in which case Chapter 20 will post next **Tuesday** because I'm not heartless enough to make you wait a week and a half) and instead save your bonus chapter for after the big cliffhanger, meaning you'll get 2 chapters that week. There will be a couple days between the cliffhanger and the next chapter, however, because I've seen it confuse readers and mess things up when authors who are posting serially suddenly post 2 chapters at once.
> 
> How do you vote?? Glad you asked. You can do so in three ways:
> 
> 1) Let me know your choice in the comments.
> 
> 2) [Reblog this story on Tumblr](https://a-mandala-rose.tumblr.com/post/187558457854/swms) and mention your choice there.
> 
> 3) You can visit my brand new fandom Twitter account and [respond to my poll](https://twitter.com/MandalaRose2/status/1212235860453855237)! 
> 
> And yes, you can vote all 3 ways if you'd like and all 3 votes will be counted because I'm lazy and I'm not tracking who voted how. 😂  
Consider giving my Tumblr or Twitter a follow because that's where I'll be announcing the winning choice Thursday evening!
> 
> Thank you all again and again, I hope you have a very happy 2020, because you've all helped me end this year and this decade (and start the new one!) on a truly wonderful note!


	20. Chapter 20

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> B-a-b-y steps, people. Baby steps.
> 
> But look at that baby go!

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Happy Tuesday, friends! Those who didn't see it on social media, as I'm sure you figured out by now, the anti-cliffhanger contingent won the vote (by almost double). So, Chapter 20 didn't get posted until today, BUT that means that there will only be a 2-day wait for the next cliffhanger resolution, instead of a week! 
> 
> I know a few of you have been eagerly awaiting this update and I'm sure were checking your inboxes on Friday, _just in case_ I might have gone ahead and posted anyways! Sorry, I didn't, but I'm here now and I really hope you enjoy the chapter!

** _Friday, February 15, 2019_ **

“Dean Winchester, as I live and breathe.”

Dean turns around in the dry-goods aisle of his second-favorite grocery store as the familiar voice washes over him. He would have gone to his_ favorite_ grocery store, except it’s Cas’ favorite too. The odds of his once-best-friend-and-unrequited-love-interest grocery shopping at eight o’clock on a Friday evening are fairly slim, but still. After Charlie’s visit, he’d decided he was done hiding from the world. Turns out though, facing the world in general is a whole hell of a lot easier than the thought of facing Cas.

“Missouri,” he says warmly, wrapping his arms around the woman who’d started out as his barely-tolerated therapist and has somehow over the intervening decade turned into something more akin to an old family-friend. “It’s been a long time.”

“That is has, Sugar,” she says as she tightens her embrace. “That it has.”

Dean might be imagining things, but he thinks she holds onto him a little longer than strictly necessary. If he holds on just as tight, well, Missouri doesn’t seem to mind. Eventually though, she draws back and her dark eyes search Dean’s face.

Dean aims for a smile, but he’s sure it comes out wobbly and stretched thin, much like he feels. He doesn’t smile much these days.

Never one to beat around the bush, Missouri squeezes his forearms and adopts a sympathetic expression, “Oh honey. I’m so sorry. You miss them terribly, don’t you?”

Letting out a humorless chuckle, Dean wonders why his family and friends complain that he never tells them things. When in his damn life has he ever even gotten the _chance _to be the first to tell anyone anything?

“I look that bad, huh?”

Missouri shoots him an unimpressed look for his deflection. “You look as handsome as ever, but you’d look even better happy.”

Shifting his feet, Dean looks away and clears his throat. “I take it Cas told you.” It’s not a question and Missouri doesn’t treat it as one.

“Obviously, I can’t talk about anything a client says during a session,” she starts, “but if I were to see that young man out and about, I reckon he’d look just as heart-heavy as you. I don’t need to be a mind reader to know two plus two equals four. So many burdens you’ve had to carry for ones so young. And so many you’re still draggin’ along with you.” She looks over Dean’s shoulder, like she can see his whole history laid out behind him, in-between the boxed pancake mixes and the canned goods.

“That ain’t exactly comforting, Missouri.” 

She raises an eyebrow, “The truth usually isn’t. Do you want the truth, Dean Winchester, or are you just looking for some good news?” 

He scowls. “It’d be nice if for once in my life, they could be the same damn thing.”

“Well, I do have one piece of good news for you. Seein’ how much you clearly miss that boy, I don’t think the two of you are finished quite yet. You’ve got some work to do, mind you, but it’s not too late to put old ghosts to rest.”

Looking at her hopelessly, Dean scrubs a hand over his face. “Then what do I _do_, Missouri? I’m willing to do whatever it takes, here, but I don’t know how to do that when he won’t let me in!”

He knows the frustration is seeping into his voice, but he doesn’t bother trying to hide it. Missouri would know anyways. She always knows. Over the past couple of weeks, Dean’s been on a goddamn magic carpet ride of _feelings_, whirling between grief, anger, and a cold despair that leaves him feeling empty and numb. 

“You wait,” she responds simply.

“Wait,” he says flatly. Waiting is not exactly Dean’s strong suit. 

Abruptly, Missouri turns to face the neatly ordered shelves of pancake mixes and bottled maple syrups. Boxes of Bisquick, Aunt Jemima, and Jiffy stare at them, Mrs. Butterworth judging Dean silently from her place of honor on the top shelf.

“You know, I’m surprised you use boxed pancake mix, Dean. I recall you taking great pride in your cooking last time we met.”

Fighting a blush, Dean mumbles, “Yeah, well, haven’t felt much like cooking lately.”

“Mmm,” Missouri hums in understanding, “It might seem silly, but as much as I love to bake, I’ve never been able to master pancakes. Such a simple recipe, too. Mine always come out burnt on one side, underdone on the other, and tough as old shoe leather.” She shakes her head mournfully.

“Ah, those are easy fixes,” Dean shrugs. “Pancakes are all about timing. You need to wait until the oil is nice and hot, before pouring in your mix. Then the trick is to flip’em at the right time. A lot of people pour the mix in too soon, so it seems to take forever for the thing to cook. They get impatient and flip it too soon, then end up having to flip it back over again to get it cooked all the way through. All the flipping back and forth is what makes ’em tough. The key to the perfect pancake is to only flip it once.” Dean thinks this might be the most he’s talked at one time since he left Cas’ apartment that night. Missouri always was able to get him talking.

The woman in question turns back to the pancake mixes, bending down and leaning forward to reach a box of buttermilk mix at the back of the shelf. 

“Hmm… timing and patience. Yes, those do seem to be the keys to many of life’s problems, don’t they?” she asks Aunt Jemima innocently.

Dean gives the therapist’s back an exaggerated eyeroll. So _that’s _where she was going with this. He bets Missouri makes the fluffiest goddamn pancakes you’ve ever tasted.

“Boy, don’t you roll your eyes at me,” she says sharply.

_Goddammit! _Dean jumps. How does she always _know_? Pain in the ass half-therapist/half-goddamn-fucking-psychic.

“And don’t cuss at me,” she adds, thwacking Dean soundly on the arm with her box of pancake mix.

“I didn’t say anything,” Dean protests loudly.

“Well, you were thinkin’ it,” Missouri glowers.

Taking a deep breath and deliberately clearing his mind of any and all swear words, Dean apologizes to the… entirely delightful and lovely therapist who saved his mental bacon and deserves nothing but kind things said… and thought, about her.

“Sorry, Missouri.” 

“It’s been quite some time since you’ve darkened my office doorstep, Dean Winchester. I’ve repainted since you were last there. You should come see it, while you’re waiting.” The therapist gives him a pointed look.

He raises an eyebrow. “That an invitation to see your office or an order to come to therapy?”

“Now, Dean, I’d never _order_ someone to come to therapy,” she sniffs, “That would be completely unprofessional. I do have an appointment open Monday at three, though, if you’re interested.”

“Look, Missouri…” Dean starts.

“If you want to repair things between yourself and Castiel, you’ll need the right tools for the job. You won’t get very far trying to flip a pancake with a ladle.” As Dean’s expression begins to waver, she adds, “If it helps, I could actually use a hand from a tall young man like yourself. There’s one painting I can’t quite reach high enough to rehang.”

He sighs. “You said Monday?”

Missouri beams at him. “Three o’clock.” Patting Dean’s arm, she pushes her cart down the aisle, past pre-made mixes and on to the actual baking supplies. 

“I want chocolate chip cookies,” Dean calls after her. “None of that oatmeal raisin crap.” 

Without looking back, Missouri reaches to her left and plucks two bags of chocolate chips off the shelf, dropping them into her cart with a dramatic flourish.

* * *

** _Tuesday, February 19, 2019_ **

The doorbell’s electronic ring echoes through the empty apartment as Castiel makes his way to the door. Pulling it open, he grins despite his heavy heart as Claire squeals and leaps from Charlie’s arms to his own.

“Da-ee,” she shrieks, planting a slobbery kiss on his lips before pointing at the ground and ordering, “dow!” Chuckling, he sets her on the floor, taking her diaper bag from Charlie where she stands in the doorway. His friend squats down to Claire’s level, grinning at the toddler.

“Later, little padawan.” Charlie holds her hand up for a high five and Claire happily acquiesces, blue eyes bright and grin splitting her face as she gently presses her hand against Charlie’s, then toddles off, giggling, toward the living room.

Charlie stands and they spend a quiet moment watching his daughter’s blonde curls bounce down the hallway, though Castiel can feel the tension building between them with each passing second.

“Thank you for picking her up,” he starts. “My PT session ran over and there’s just no way I was going to make it to daycare on time.”

“It’s fine, Cas. I’m just relieved to know you still know how to use a phone. You’d ignored so many of texts, I thought maybe you’d forgotten, or maybe you’d broken both your arms, or you know, maybe you’d been in another life-threatening car accident, because _surely_ you wouldn’t just _not respond_ to messages from your worried best friend after something like that.” Charlie’s voice has grown lower and more clipped with each word and Castiel has the distinct impression that if it weren’t for the one-year-old in the next room, she’d be shouting at him instead.

“I’m sorry,” he responds, sincerely. “I didn’t think…”

Charlie scoffs. “Of course, you didn’t. The way I hear it, you’ve said and done a few things without thinking lately. Not that I’ve heard any of that from _you_, mind you. Not like those are things you might tell a supposed _best friend_ about.”

Flinching at the well-earned barb, Castiel steps aside, gesturing for Charlie to enter. “Come in, Charlie. Please. We’ll talk.”

Face falling, Charlie shakes her head. “Cas, I love you, but I don’t think I can talk to you right now.”

Wincing again, Castiel reminds himself that Charlie was Dean’s friend first. He’d known that failing at a relationship with Dean would likely cost him not only Dean’s friendship, but all the other interconnected relationships he shared with the man: Charlie and Gilda, Sam and Jess, Ellen and Bobby. What Castiel hadn’t considered was exactly what Missouri had reminded him of a couple weeks ago during their session: a friendship _is_ a relationship, and Castiel had certainly failed at his friendship with Dean. 

“I know I hurt Dean. I’m sorry. You know I never wanted that to happen,” he explains lamely, knowing it’s nowhere near enough.

“Dean? You think I’m just upset about _Dean_?” Charlie asks incredulously. 

Castiel stares, bemused. Why else would Charlie be angry? He can’t imagine she’s this upset just because he didn’t return her calls.

“Yeah, you hurt Dean... like _really_ hurt him, for the record,” she continues and Castiel feels a sharp pain in his chest (he imagines it’s a shard of his broken heart, or maybe Dean’s), “but he’s not the one I’m worried about. Dean will heal. Dean will move on. It’ll suck, but it’ll happen.”

The glass-like shards in Castiel’s bleeding heart multiply.

“I’m more worried about you, Cas. I just can’t watch you shut yourself off like this.” Charlie’s voice warbles, “I can’t watch you go back to being the same lonely, emotionless, Robo-Cas you were when we first met.”

“I’m fine, Charlie,” Castiel lies and his friend gives him what Dean would call a “Sam-Winchester-worthy bitchface.” At the reminder of Dean, another piece of his broken-glass heart shatters.

“Sure, Cas. You’re _fine_. You’re always _fine_. You were _fine_ when I met you. You were _fine_ for that whole first semester at school. I bet you were _fine_ when you were living in Chicago, with Bart. But you know what you were for the last few months? You were _happy. Happy,_ Castiel. Bruised and broken and still happier than the people who care about you have ever seen you before.”

She looks at him sadly.

“What was so wrong with being happy?”

His friend’s words ringing far too true to be comfortable, Castiel bristles. “Happiness never lasts, Charlie. Eventually, it just slams the door in your face. In the case of Dean and I, it was _this_ door, to be exact.”

Charlie rolls her eyes, muttering something that sounds suspiciously like, “fracking idiots,” and “made for each other,” under her breath, before continuing in a louder voice.

“You know, Claire mentioned ‘Dee’ _twice_ on our ride home tonight. Even if you don’t want to see Dean anymore, you could at least let him see Claire. Keeping them apart is just cruel, Cas. To both of them.”

Eyes widening in shock, Castiel stammers, “I… I never intended to keep Claire from Dean. No matter what happened between him and I, I would _never_ do that.”

“Then why did you call _me_ today and not him?” Arms crossed, Charlie raises a skeptical eyebrow.

“I just thought… I wasn’t sure my call would be welcome,” he admits.

“So what, you thought he’d call up the guy who just rejected him and say, ‘hey, so I know you shot me down and all, but would it be okay if I still hung out with your kid?’” Now Charlie’s back to looking pissed and Castiel can hardly blame her. What has he done?

“I didn’t mean for any of this to happen,” he says weakly.

Sighing, the petite redhead begins walking backward toward the elevator. “You said the door slammed closed on your shot at happiness with Dean?” she asks as she jabs the ‘down’ arrow, not waiting for a response before continuing, “Then maybe you should open a window.”

Seeing Castiel’s bewildered expression, she rolls her eyes before adding flatly as she steps into the elevator, “Like a chat window, Castiel. Message him.”

And with the elevator doors closing behind her, Charlie leaves Castiel alone with his thoughts. Thoughts that plague him throughout the rest of the evening as he feeds Claire her dinner and gets her ready for bed. 

“Dee?” Claire asks, when she sees Castiel’s phone light up with an incoming call from his brother. 

“I’m afraid not, sweet girl,” Castiel says sadly, showing her Gabe’s contact photo on the screen. “It’s just Uncle Gabe. I’ll call him back later.”

Claire’s disappointed look breaks Castiel’s heart anew and he cuddles his baby for an extra long time that evening before laying her gently in her bed, still marveling at the fact he’s able to do so once again, such a simple parental act being denied him for so long.

The memory of Claire’s heartbroken face follows Castiel into bed that night. It makes him grateful, in a strange, twisted way, that his accident occurred when it did and not now. It’s amazing the difference a few short months can make and the thought of Claire asking for him that way and him not being there for her… His stomach gives a sickening lurch as he wonders if Dean feels the same way. If he’s lying awake at night, having the same thoughts and worries that Castiel’d had in the hospital. Is Claire missing him? Does she think he abandoned her? Is she hurting because of him? Is she angry with him?

He may not be able to fix everything he’s broken between he and Dean right now, but this one thing, he can fix.

Resolved, Castiel reaches for his phone and opens a window.

* * *

** _Wednesday, February 20, 2019_ **

Dean pulls out his phone for the third time as he sits in the parking lot of Little Angels, reading again the text message that brought him here today. 

Yesterday, 10:37 PM

Gabe SENT:

Hey Flounder, Cassie asked me to let you know if you wanna see the kid, you can stop by Little Angels. Ariel and the Sea-Witch have been given the okay to let you in.

He’s still a little disappointed that that the message came from Gabe and not Cas, but he gets it. It’s not like he’s been sending Cas any messages. Hell, he’s still rearranging his grocery shopping routine to avoid running into the guy and he hasn’t been back to _I Dream of Beanie_ since their fight either. He hadn’t realized how much he’d started to enjoy their coffee until he crawled back to his single-serving k-cups. 

_Coffee for one, the Winchester special. _

Rolling his eyes at himself for his internal dramatics and inhaling deeply, he puts his phone away and prepares to get out of the car. He’s been in this building dozens of times, but this time, he’s a mess of nerves. It’s time to either man up and go inside or get the hell out of dodge, though. He’s spent twenty minutes being that creepy guy parked outside a preschool and he thinks he’s pretty damn lucky no one’s called the cops yet.

Hands shaking faintly, he locks Baby’s doors and turns toward the cheerful daycare entrance, cartoonish, chubby-faced cherubs greeting him from the _Little Angels_ logo on the glass doors. Dean shakes his head. He still can’t believe _Meg_ works at a place like this. How does she not burst into flames when she walks through the doors? Or does that only happen in a church? 

Momentarily distracted from his nerves by maligning the unlikely preschool teacher, Dean makes it into the lobby, where he again stops short. Will Claire remember him? Does she miss him? Has she asked for him? Dean feels terrible for wanting the latter two to be true, surely it would be easier on Claire if she’d just forgotten him, but he can’t help it. The thought of being erased from Claire’s life, as if he’d never been there, tears Dean in two. He can’t help but remember how Cas had shared similar worries with Dean after Claire’s visit to the rehab hospital and his heart twists in his chest. He wonders if that experience has something to do with why Cas has reached out now, offering for Dean to still have a relationship with his daughter, even if _he_ doesn’t want a relationship with Dean. Well, whatever the reason, Dean is grateful and he’s not about to let his chance slip through his fingers. 

Resolved, he walks to the front counter to check-in with the receptionist there. “Hey, Becky. I’m, uh, here to see Claire?”

“Hey, Dean,” greets Becky Rosen, Little Angels receptionist and office administrator, cheerfully. “Castiel called to let us know we might be seeing you. You know the drill. Just sign-in on the computer and put on the badge that prints out, then you can head on into the toddler room to see Miss Claire.”

Dean does as instructed, trying to calm his racing heart and the tears welling up in his eyes at the thought of seeing his best little buddy again. Hands in his pockets and shoulders slightly hunched, Dean chews on the inside of his lip as he heads into the toddler room. Scanning the room for blonde curls, it’s only a moment before Dean spots Claire, squatting down in the block center, a look of fierce concentration on her face as she tries to stack the painted wooden blocks. Breath caught in his throat, Dean moves closer, watching as Claire’s pudgy fingers delicately position each block. She’s managed a six-block tower, before the seventh brightly colored cube tips the whole thing over. 

Claire lets out an indignant squawk, before suddenly looking up at Dean’s responding chuckle. Round blue eyes flare wide in recognition as the almost fourteen-month-old clambers unsteadily to her feet, nearly toppling over in her excitement.

“Dee!” Claire screeches, barreling toward him and yup, no way in hell is Dean getting out of this without bawling like a damn baby. He drops to one knee, opening his arms wide to scoop up the squealing, curly-haired toddler as she crashes into him.

“Hey there, Blondie,” he murmurs into the soft hair tickling his cheek. “Dee missed you so much, baby girl. So much.” He tightens his arms around Claire, who’s now clinging to him like a baby chimpanzee, resisting the urge to sigh when he hears a voice above them.

“Careful there, handsome, or you might even have _me_ tearing up,” Meg’s words are snarky and she wears her trademark smirk like that leather jacket she never takes off and Dean will never admit is all manner of hot, but there’s a softness to her tone that hints at sincerity.

Dean straightens up, clutching Claire to him with one arm, while swiping at his eyes with the other. “Well, we wouldn’t want that,” he counters weakly, “tears of blood might scare the kiddos.” 

A genuinely kind person might avert their eyes to spare Dean any embarrassment at this point, but since Meg is apparently just trying it on for the day, she stares openly at Dean’s tear-streaked face.

“I take it unicorn hunting didn’t pan out, huh?” 

Grimacing, Dean readjusts his hold on Claire, who’s now got her head resting on his shoulder. “Not that it’s any of your business, but no, it didn’t.”

“There a story there, hot stuff?” Meg raises her eyebrows curiously and Dean scoffs.

“Yeah. One that’s over before it began.” Claire starts to get wiggly, her tolerance for being cuddled when there are so many other kids around to play with reaching its limit. Dean presses a kiss into her hair, then sets her down on her feet. “Go on, Blondie. Dee will be over to play with you in a minute.”

As they watch the toddler amble toward the doll center, Meg quirks an eyebrow. “Oh, I don’t know about that, Dean-O. I mean, the guy went out of his way to make sure you could come see the rug rat. That doesn’t sound like someone who wants you out of his life.”

Dean hums noncommittally, smiling softly to himself as Claire picks up a baby doll, hugging it to her chest, the doll’s dark locks contrasting against her blonde. 

“Besides, I’ve seen the way you treat Claire. Anyone with eyes can see how much you love that little ankle biter. If you treat Clarence even half that good, he’d be an idiot to let you go. He might be lacking in fashion sense, but my unicorn’s not _that_ much of an idiot. I bet he’s sitting at home right now, trying to figure out how to get back into those sexy, firefighter turn-out pants of yours.”

Dean shoots her an annoyed look and Meg rolls her eyes.

“And your heart,” she says in a bored voice, gesturing vaguely with one hand.

“Then maybe he should say something, if that’s the case,” Dean argues petulantly.

“Maybe you should let him know you’re listening,” Meg answers, not unkindly. “People like to know they’re not screaming into the void, especially when it’s their heart on the line.”

Narrowing his eyes, Dean points at her. “You’re being nice. It’s weird.”

Meg shudders, “I know. It feels like wearing someone else’s skin. Fortunately, my break’s almost over, so it’s time for me to get back to molding our country’s future.”

Now it’s Dean’s turn to shudder, though he’s not sure which is the most terrifying thought: the idea of Meg wearing some unsuspecting do-gooder like a human meatsuit or that of her shaping the nation’s youth into a little army of mini-Megs. 

Meg grins like she knows exactly what Dean’s thinking. 

“Well, Dean-O, I hope you and Clarence work it out. It’s always so sad for the little ones when Mommy and Daddy are fighting,” she says in a syrupy, mocking voice, bottom lip poking out in a faux-pout. “If you don’t though, I may not have played basketball in high school, but I was still known for my skills on the rebound.” She winks at him.

That one. _That’s_ the most horrifying thought yet. “Hard pass, thanks.”

She shrugs. “Your loss. I’d offer to hook you up with Anna again, but I don’t think ‘kicked puppy’ is her type.”

“Ah,” Dean says, letting the familiarity of Meg’s peculiar blend of flirtation and insults wash over him. “There’s the dried-up-bitter-she-demon I love to hate. That’s better.”

And, Dean reflects as he moves to join Claire in the dress-up center, in a weird way, it kind of is.

* * *

**Thursday, February 28, 2019**

“I don’t know, Gabe. I go back to work next week…”

“Which is exactly why you need to come out tonight,” his brother argues. “I know you, Cassie. Either you and Claire come to dinner with me and let me distract you, or you’ll spend the rest of the week locked in your apartment, freaking out about your first day back. In fact, I bet you’ve already anxious-cleaned the whole damn place. You need to get out of there before you over do it and can’t even walk come Monday.”

Glancing at his reflection in the now spotless glass stovetop, Castiel grimaces. Gabriel may have a point. Claire is an excellent distraction when she’s home, but while she’s at daycare, he has nothing to keep his mind off his impending return to work. He’s already scrubbed every kitchen surface within easy reach and had been debating the wisdom of attempting to get on his hands and knees to clean the oven when his phone rang. A change of scenery for the evening might not be a bad idea.

Three hours later sees he and Claire tucked into Gabe’s cherry red Nissan, heading out of Lawrence, which wouldn’t be too surprising, were it not for the fact that they’re headed in the _opposite_ direction of Kansas City. 

“Where exactly are we going for dinner?” He eyes Gabriel suspiciously. “There aren’t any restaurants out this way.” 

“If you recall, I never said we were going to a restaurant,” Gabe answers cryptically. “I just said we were going _out_ for dinner. We’re out and we’re going to be having dinner.”

Narrowing his eyes, Castiel looks out the passenger side window. There’s literally nowhere to eat in the direction they’re headed. In fact, in the year that he’s lived here, the only time Castiel’s even been out this way was when…

“Gabe, no,” he says urgently, casting wide, panicked eyes at his brother, who doesn’t look away from the road.

“Is a word in the English language, yes, though not one I generally choose to acknowledge, except of course, when it comes to the ladies,” Gabriel waggles his eyebrows theatrically, “in which case, no means no and consent is sexy. Remember that Claire-Bear,” he says glancing at the toddler in his rearview mirror, who is contentedly flipping through the pages of a board book version of Pride and Prejudice.

“Gabriel,” Castiel cuts off his brother’s babbling with a frown, “Why would you bring us here?”

“They insisted. Look, Cassie,” Gabe says pointing a finger at him, “it’s not _my_ fault that people like you, want to see you, and otherwise give a damn about what happens to you. If you don’t like it, don’t be so absurdly endearing. I never have this problem.”

Castiel sinks down in his seat as his brother makes the turn onto the long, gravel drive that will take them to Singer Salvage, the now defunct salvage yard where John and Bobby first taught Dean everything he knows about how to care for his Baby. Ignoring the salvage yard, they pull up instead to the Singer-Harvelle house. Before getting out of the car, Gabe turns to Castiel and places a hand heavily on his shoulder, catching Castiel’s eyes with his own. 

“Godspeed, Cassie,” he says seriously, clapping Castiel on the back before hopping out of the car and pulling Claire’s diaper bag from the back. Castiel busies himself with retrieving Claire from her carseat behind the passenger seat. The two of them head up the dirt walkway to the front porch, Castiel’s heart pounding in his chest. They haven’t even made it all the way up the porch steps when the front screen door creaks open and Ellen steps out onto the porch, arms crossed in front of her. Castiel swallows.

“You know, I think Claire-Bear here needs a diaper change, so I’m just gonna…” Gabriel, the traitor, trails off as he snatches the baby Castiel was hoping to hide behind like an adorable human shield and books a hasty retreat into the house, only to be replaced in the doorway a moment later by Bobby.

“Castiel, honey, it’s so good to see you. We’ve missed you around here.” Ellen wraps him in her arms with the same maternal affection she’s greeted him with ever since that first hug Christmas Day. He stiffens momentarily in shock, then melts into her embrace, sagging with a sense of relief so strong it surprises him and he has to suppress a sob. Ellen just clutches him tighter, rubbing his back in firm, comforting circles.

He’d thought this was lost to him when he’d foolishly lost Dean. To know now that it’s not, that he still might have the chance for someone to care about him the way a mother should, that Claire might still have the chance to grow up knowing the love of grandparents, it’s overwhelming. It’s so overwhelming, in fact, that Castiel doesn’t sense the blow coming until Ellen’s palm makes solid and painful contact with the back of his head.

“_That’s_ for avoiding us for the past two months,” she says, pulling back to glare at him accusingly. 

Bobby nods from his wheelchair in the doorway. “Do we look like a ditchable prom date to you?”

Castiel shrinks in on himself. “I wasn’t sure you’d want to see me, with,” he hesitates, then pushes on, “with the way I left things with Dean.”

“Thought I told you, boy, family don’t end with blood. And yer family.” Bobby says gruffly.

“In my defense, you also told me you’d put me back in my wheelchair if I hurt Dean,” Castiel can’t help but point out.

Bobby shrugs sheepishly as Ellen backhands his flannel-sheathed shoulder and frowns down at him.

“What?” the grizzled fire chief asks petulantly. “I didn’t know him then.”

“Well,” Ellen counters, turning back to face Castiel, “I’m pretty sure _I _told you that you and Claire would still have family here, no matter what happened between you and Dean.”

“But you were Dean’s family first,” he protests weakly.

“Yeah, well, family don’t end with _Dean_ either,” Bobby declares as he turns his wheelchair around and heads into the house. “Now, if we’re done with all the sharing and caring, our dinner’s gettin’ cold and I for one ain’t eatin’ cold pot roast just because it turns out lover boy here really is as dumb as he looks.”

After dinner, Gabe and Castiel both offer to help Ellen clean up, but she puts Gabe on dish duty and shoos Castiel out of the kitchen, telling him that he looks dead on his feet as is. Knowing she’s right, his spontaneous spring cleaning this morning having taken a greater toll than he anticipated, he retreats to the living room, carrying beers for himself and Bobby. 

Settling himself on the sofa after passing one of the brown bottles to the other man, Castiel stares at his beer, shifting it hand-to-hand as he says, “I’m sorry for disappearing on you, especially after all you and Ellen have done for me and Claire. I didn’t mean to seem uncaring or ungrateful.”

Bobby snorts and waves off his apology from where he’s camped out in his broken-in, plaid patterned recliner. “Kids ain’t supposed to be grateful. They’re supposed to eat yer food and break yer heart.”

Castiel offers a wan smile. “I don’t suppose I know much about how families work. Or at least, not how they’re _supposed_ to work.” 

Bobby follows his eyes, focused on the hallway that leads to the bathroom where Ellen is currently giving Claire her after-dinner-bath. It turns out pot-roast and mashed potatoes do not make an appealing hair gel, though they do have excellent hold.

“It’s a brave thing you’re doin’ with that little girl,” he says.

“What? Raising her on my own? It’s not like I had much choice.”

“Raisin’ her at all,” Bobby answers, surprising him. “My old man was a mean son of a bitch. Even after he died, I was still so scared I’d turn into him that I never even had kids of my own. Jo, Sam, Dean, they were all more’en half-raised when I got’em. I love those fool kids like they’re my own, but it’s still not the same as what yer doin’ with Claire. And yer doin’ good, kid. Real good.”

Castiel swallows around the sudden lump in his throat. Bobby’s gaze turns back to the T.V. as he adds, “You ain’t gotta do it alone though, but I’m pretty sure you know that.”

Castiel nods miserably. “That’s why I felt too guilty to come around here. I couldn’t try to take Dean’s family from him. I’ve already taken so much…” he chokes on the words. “Broken so much.”

“So, fix it,” Bobby counters bluntly.

“I’m planning to,” answers Castiel firmly. “I’m working on it, but,” now he falters before going on in almost a whisper, “what if hurt him again?”

Bobby shrugs, “Don’t.”

Laughing, rather wetly, Castiel looks at the grumpy old man with no small amount of fondness. “I really should have talked to Ellen about this, huh?”

“Yup. Don’t know why the hell you thought talkin’ to me was a good idea. Now shut yer trap and drink yer beer.”

Castiel grins around the brown bottle, feeling better than he has in weeks. Maybe he hasn’t lost as much as he thought. Maybe he can fix this, after all.

* * *

** _Friday, March 1, 2019_ **

“Samsquatch,” Dean hears Gabe call cheerfully as Sam opens the door to the bakery/café in front of him, “What brings your tall, dark, and delectable self here?” 

“He’s with me,” Dean says as he pushes his way past Sam into the heavenly-smelling bakery. Is that blackberry pie? “Figured that’s the only way you’d let me in.”

It had taken Dean more than a week and two more trips to see Claire at Little Angels before he finally got up the nerve to stop by Gabe’s shop on his way to the station. He knows from the very abrupt text message that Cas’ brother is pissed at him and being a protective older brother himself, Dean can understand why. Plus, he’s more than a little terrified that Gabe is going to tell him Cas _doesn’t_ want anything to do with him, after all, and that he should just do them all a favor and stay away. 

“I’ve been wondering when you’d show your classically handsome, yet incredibly stupid face around here. I’m not sure I’m talking to you right now,” the baker sniffs, barely glancing at Dean as he loads fresh pastries into the café’s display case.

“It’s good to see you too,” Dean says sarcastically before huffing a sigh. “C’mon Gabe. You know I’m sorry about how things went down. I feel like crap. Tell him, Sam.”

“You know what? I think I’m gonna go next door and get some coffee, let you two talk,” Sam hedges, stepping sideways toward the door that leads to the café side of Gabe’s business. 

“What? We just got here. Way to be supportive, bitch.” Dean glares at his gigantic little brother, the traitorous moose. Dean had asked Sam to meet him here before going into the office for moral support. So much for that.

“Hey, I said I’d get you in the door. You’re in. You’re on your own for the rest. I’m not getting involved in any kind of argument with the man who’s making my wedding cake in three and a half months.” His eyes widen. “Jess would _kill_ me.”

“Tell me, gorgeous,” Gabe leers at Sam as he tosses him a muffin from behind the counter, “what does she have that I don’t? Well, aside from the obvious. I may not be a tall, brilliant, charming, breathtakingly beautiful goddess, but imagine the things I could _bake_ for you.”

“You already bake for me,” Sam says, waving the lemon poppyseed muffin in his giant paw as case-in-point.

“Guess that’s what I get for giving away the milk for free,” Gabe sighs dramatically.

“And that’s as much as I ever wanna hear about your _milk,_” Dean shudders as he turns to Sam, “Are you stayin’ or goin’?”

With a final wave of his half-eaten muffin, Sam backs out of the bakery door, the little bell at the top jingling in his wake. Dean turns, seeing the pint-sized baker glaring at him with his arms crossed.

“Look, man, I want to make things right with Cas, but I don’t know how. I could use a little help here, you asshole.”

“Oh really? You want to make things right? How about not just walking out on the guy who’s been walked out on his whole goddamn life? I’m pretty sure I remember telling you that if you planned to get involved with my baby brother, you’d better damn well plan on _staying _involved_._”

“You did. And I _am,_” Dean defends. “He’s the one who thought it would be a good idea for us to give each other some space. So, I’m giving him space.” 

Gabe give him a look that says he thinks the blueberry scone he’s loading into the display case has more brains than Dean.

“Yeah. And when he was seven he said he was going to move to Montana when he grew up to be a naked beekeeper. _That_ was a stupid idea and so is this.”

Despite everything, Dean feels the corners of his mouth quirk upward at that. “Naked beekeeper?”

“Yeah,” Gabe scoffs, “in _Montana_. Can you imagine the frostbite in the winter months? Point is, Dean-O, my baby brother doesn’t make the best decisions when he’s emotionally compromised. How do you think that asshole Bartholo-puke managed to get his claws in him in the first place? He chased off every friend Cassie had made in college and then spent _years_ gaslighting him, making him think that no one else wanted him—would _ever _want him. By the time I realized what was happening, it was too late.”

Shutting the display case hard enough to shake the glittery green shamrock banner dangling across the top of it, Gabe keeps talking, “In fact, I’m pretty sure that’s why the asshole agreed to have Claire in the first place. I’d finally convinced Cassie to stand up to him, but when he confronted Bart, the bag of dicks offered Cas what he’d always wanted to get him to stay—a family.”

Dean’s hands ball into fists at his sides and he fights to quell the sudden rage infusing him. He’s never hated anyone like he hates Cas’ ex. How someone could do something like that to _anyone_, let alone someone as pure and good as Castiel, is beyond him. 

“God, what I wouldn’t do for five minutes alone with that guy,” Dean seethes.

“You and me both, Dean-O.” Gabe shoots him a sad half-smile. “What are you gonna do?”

“Fuck, I don’t know, man.” Dean scrubs a weary hand across his face. “Can you talk to him for me? You live with the guy.”

Gabe snorts, “Not anymore, I don’t,” he says. At Dean’s surprised look, he elaborates, “Cassie kicked me out. Said now that he’s back on his feet and able to drive himself and Claire around, it was time for me to ‘get back to my life.’” 

“So, he’s alone?” Dean asks quietly, guilt smothering his words as he imagines Cas sitting up alone in his empty apartment, feeling unwanted and unloved.

“It’s what he does,” Gabe explains, “pushes people away before they can leave him.”

“Fuck. So, what do I do? The more I push, the more he runs away. I don’t know what to _do_.” Dean knows he must look as pathetic and helpless as he feels, but for once he doesn’t care. He’d get on his knees and _beg_ Gabriel for his help if thought there was anything the man could do to convince Cas to give him another chance.

“I don’t know,” Gabe answers, looking pained as he continues, “Just make sure he knows he’s not alone. Make sure he knows you’re still there.”

“Yeah, okay,” Dean swallows, eyes locking on the paper coffee cup sitting next to Gabe’s cash register. A smile slowly overtakes Dean’s face as an idea starts to form in his mind. “I think I can do that.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Before you get excited, NO, this is not the cliffhanger! Trust me, this is not the thing you want a quick resolution to. 
> 
> Hmm, what to ask you this week... Ah, I know! Two questions:
> 
> 1) What was your favorite side-character interaction in this chapter? We had quite a few! Missouri and Dean, Cas and Charlie, Dean and Meg, Cas and Ellen, Cas and Bobby, or Dean and Gabe! And I suppose there was a little Sam in there too!  
2) What kind of cookies would you want MIssouri to bake you? I'm with Dean on the chocolate chip. And oatmeal raisin cookies are a LIE.
> 
> Thanks for reading and I hope you enjoyed the progress our boys made today! 
> 
> Next week (posting on Tuesday!), we'll get to see them make some progress together...ish.


	21. Chapter 21

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Cas reconciles with a friend, supportive!Sam is supportive, and coffee is the real hero here.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your amazing comments on the last chapter! You all deserve Missouri-cookies in any flavor you want... even oatmeal raisin. 
> 
> Thanks for playing along with me so well in the comments, everyone. I'm having such a blast interacting with each and every one of you, though my silent readers are all loved and adored as well, of course! 
> 
> And in case anyone was wondering, MIssouri/Dean and the pancake analogy were hands-down the most popular interaction from last week's chapter. Also, chocolate chip beat out oatmeal raisin (duh) and I now have a very long list of new cookie varieties to taste test! Also, I really need to stop asking food questions at the end of these chapters, because I get so hungry reading the comments. 😂
> 
> Okay, I've rambled at you enough. I hope you enjoy the chapter. There are some pretty serious warnings in the end noes for this one, though, so please check those if needed!

** _Monday, March 4, 2019_ **

Castiel runs a frazzled hand through his already hopeless hair. He’s about to start his first period class and his nerves are already a jumbled mess. Getting up and out of the house this morning proved far more difficult than he’d anticipated, despite having prepped everything possible the evening before. Claire, apparently noticing the sudden change in routine and perhaps sensing Castiel’s nerves, had been unusually clingy and weepy, making dropping her off at daycare more difficult than usual.

Everyone at Little Angels had wanted the opportunity to congratulate Castiel and wish him luck on his first day back at work, which was lovely of course, but by the time he made it back to his car, he didn’t have time to stop by _I Dream of Beanie_ on his way to school. Not getting his much-anticipated back-to-school coffee had thrown his entire morning off-kilter. They’d already had a stand-up staff meeting first thing this morning to welcome him back to Shawnee Mission North, which hadn’t helped matters at all. Never one to like being the center of attention, Castiel’s mortification was multiplied when he found himself fighting back tears as he thanked his colleagues for their incredibly generous gifts, meals, and leave donations that had both literally and figuratively fed his family during his extended absence. 

Now, as he watches the hordes of adolescents milling through the high school’s halls, Castiel feels like every last one is staring at him. Feeling relieved that Missouri had the foresight to suggest they schedule an extra session this week, for this afternoon in fact, he’s moments away from abandoning his hall duty for the relative quiet and safety of his classroom when he hears a familiar voice calling his name.

“Cas! Castiel!”

Castiel turns to see red curls weaving between the masses of high schoolers, dodging and jumping like a salmon swimming upstream. He’d wondered where Charlie was this morning when she’d failed to appear for the stand-up meeting, going so far as to imagine the fellow teacher might still be so angry with him that she refused to attend a meeting in his honor on principle.

“Here,” she says when she reaches him, breathlessly thrusting a brilliant yellow travel mug at him as she ducks out of the moving sea of students. Castiel’s eyes widen in surprise.

“It’s not from me,” she says abruptly, drawing his eyes back up from the mug. He winces at the sting of those words, clutching the epoxied mug tightly. He’s missed Dean so, so much these past weeks, of course, but it wasn’t just Dean Castiel lost that night. He’s missed Sam and Jess tremendously as well. Once he’d learned Charlie was upset with him too, well, Castiel hasn’t felt this lonely and this _alone_ in quite some time—not since Bart left him.

“_These_ are from me,” she says then, sheepishly lifting up a cellophane bag containing a package of Bertie Bott’s Every Flavour Beans and an assortment of chocolate frogs with the hand that hadn’t been holding the coffee.

Feeling the warmth from the steaming coffee in his hands creeping into his heart, Castiel’s lips quirk up in a small smile. 

“I’m sorry,” Charlie blurts, “I just… When I got replaced as your BFF, I figured it was okay, you know? Because it was Dean. And you. And you two were _obviously_ meant to be together in some perfect, dreamy, completely gross man love. And then when you _weren’t_ together, I was just so frustrated with both of you and I took it kind of personally, which I get was completely stupid because it wasn’t _my _not-relationship you two idiots totally screwed up.”

Castiel opens his mouth, but Charlie doesn’t give him a chance to respond before she adds, “I yelled at him too, by the way. Just, you know, so you know.”

She watches him nervously, practically vibrating as she tightens her grip on the cellophane, making casualties of two of the chocolate frogs.

Castiel unclenches one hand from where it’s been holding onto the travel mug like a lifeline and uses it to pull Charlie into a tight hug. Feeling her thin arms squeeze around his waist, he pulls back and looks down a her with a serious expression.

“Charlie Bradbury, Queen of Moondor, hacker extraordinaire, computer-science-teaching genius, GSA sponsor, and the best friend I will never deserve: _no one_ could _ever_ replace you and I am so sorry I ever made you feel otherwise.”

Beaming now, Charlie gives his arm one last squeeze before letting go and handing over the (now slightly squishy) bag of candy. 

“So, you’re saying the position of Castiel Milton’s best friend is definitely filled?”

“Yes. _Permanently._” Castiel puts as much emphasis as he can on the last word.

“Well then,” Charlie sighs before casting a sly glance at the mug in Castiel’s hand, “I guess you’re just going to have to find a different title for the person who gave you that, because I’m not giving mine up again.”

Castiel feels his heartrate quicken as Charlie turns and trots down the now almost-empty hallway.

“Charlie, who…”

“Drink your coffee, Cas,” is the only reply he gets.

Tucking the candy underneath his arm, a little more squishing isn’t going to hurt it much at this point, he lifts the honey-colored mug to eye level. Golden shades of yellow and orange melt into one another behind a smattering of glittery honeycomb shapes and life-like honeybees. The mug is adorned with the words, _“To thine own self _bee_ true.”_

Castiel smiles and takes a sip, the taste of his favorite coffee from _I Dream of Beanie_ flooding his taste buds, prepared just the way he likes it. 

_Dean._

For the first time since his harsh words and crueler silence had chased Dean from his apartment, Castiel feels a tendril of hope unfurl in his heart. It’s small, cautious, but it’s there and it wraps itself around Castiel, carrying him through the rest of his day.

Later that day, he settles himself in the now familiar armchair across from Missouri and takes a breath. Meeting the therapist’s eyes, he’s proud of how steady his voice is as he says, “I want to tell you about Bart.”

* * *

** _Thursday, April 4, 2019_ **

Castiel caps the metallic gold Sharpie with an audible click, handing it back to the curly-haired barista with a nervous smile. 

It’s been more than a month since he first brought up his relationship with Bart to Missouri. Sorting through the trauma and… abuse he suffered at the metaphorical hands of his previous lover has been difficult, draining, but ultimately rewarding work. Even now, he struggles to call Bart’s treatment of him what it was, but he knows that acknowledging the abuse and naming it as such is an important step toward healing from it. 

_“Fear of a name increases fear of the thing itself,” _Castiel quotes to himself with a wry smile. Wouldn’t Charlie be proud? He’s made a point of having coffee or dinner with Charlie at least once a week outside of work since they made up last month and having his best friend back has been every bit as healing as his therapy sessions.

He still misses Dean, of course. As expected, there’s a hole in his life big enough to drive a ’67 Chevy Impala through. He’s working on that though, working on himself, but he’s just not at a place where he trusts himself with something so precious as Dean Winchester. He’s wondered, over the past month, if things would have gone differently, had he not spoken to Bart that night. If he didn’t have Bart’s words echoing in his head, would he still have reacted so poorly to Dean’s confession? Or would he have taken the opportunity for what it was, a chance to start a new life with the man he loves? The man who wants to have a family with him, who already _is _his family. He’s thought about it, round and round until he’s dizzy with it even, and always comes to the same conclusion. He’s not sure. He just doesn’t know and _that’s_ what makes him keep his distance from the firefighter now. He can’t face Dean until he knows he won’t panic and destroy whatever is left of the relationship he wants so desperately to rebuild. 

Dean deserves better than that. 

Claire deserves better than that.

_Castiel_ deserves better than that.

So instead, Castiel throws himself into his work and caring for Claire. Missouri calls this “avoidance.” They’re working on that, too. However, that doesn’t mean he and Dean haven’t had _any_ contact. Dean has maintained his distance from Castiel, giving him the space he so stupidly demanded, but he’s still been reaching out, unobtrusive, but supportive. He’d once told Dean that Thursday is his least favorite day of the school week, sandwiched between “hump day” and Friday, nothing but a placeholder that students impatiently tolerate on the way to their weekend. It’s ironic perhaps, since Castiel is in fact named for the Angel of Thursday, but even so. Three days after Charlie handed him Dean’s gift (and his first Thursday back at work), he walked into his classroom to find another steaming cup of coffee on his desk, this time in a paper _I Dream of Beanie_ cup, with a quote scrawled on it in Dean’s blocky handwriting – _“To_ bee_ or not to _bee_: that is the question.”_

And that really was the question, wasn’t it? What were he and Dean? Could there still be a relationship between them, or had that possibility been put to rest? He’d become more determined than ever to “sort through his shit,” as Dean had once so elegantly put it.

That evening, Castiel and Charlie had held their twice monthly (or as Charlie calls it, their “_Bi_-weekly”) GSA meeting at _I Dream of Beanie, _a frequent meeting place for the group due to their LGBTQ+ friendly atmosphere. Before leaving, Castiel spoke quietly with the barista, who by her grin, must have either been on shift or heard about Dean’s coffee quote. Either way, she didn’t bat an eye when Castiel pre-paid for a large cup of black coffee and asked to see a cup and her marker. The next time Dean came in, he’d receive a free cup of coffee reading, _“Everything was bee-autiful, and nothing hurt.”_

He knew his Vonnegut-loving friend would look past the surface meaning of those words and he’d hoped that Dean would read his longing in them, his sorrow, his comfort drawn from Dean’s gifts. Perhaps they would bring some modicum of comfort to Dean as well, insufficient and bittersweet as it may be.

Castiel knew his choice to reciprocate Dean’s gift was the right one when found yet another _I Dream of Beanie _cup waiting with next week’s copies when he arrived at school Monday morning. His breath caught in his throat as he read the silver quote scrawled on the side of the caramel-colored paper cup, _“For though they may bee parted, there is still a chance that they will see. There will bee an answer, let it bee.”_

He recognized the Beatles’ popular song lyric, of course, but it also felt like this was intended to be an answer to the question Dean posed in his last coffee delivery. But what did it mean? Did Dean want there to be a relationship between them? Did he want them to just let things be the way they were now? The way they had been before? Was Castiel reading far too much into a few words written on a disposable coffee cup? Maybe.

They’d continued that way, trading coffee messages back and forth throughout each week. They’d both attempted to continue the bee theme, but finding an appropriate quote that also included the word “be” became more challenging after the first few volleys. At least, Castiel is assuming that’s the explanation for the cup he received two weeks into their correspondence with the line, _“Don’t worry, bee happy?”_ written on it uncertainly, next to a hastily sketched cartoon bee, shrugging its shoulders. Rolling his eyes, he’d responded that evening with an equally silly, _“Un-bee-lievable,”_ and his own cartoon bee, this one frowning and wearing a disapproving expression. 

“Disapproving bee,” as Castiel dubbed him, continues to make regular appearances on their coffee cups. Castiel has a record of each occurrence, taking a picture of each quote with his phone, before recycling the paper cup at the end of his work day. He continues to use the beautiful travel mug Dean gifted him on non-_I Dream of Beanie _days, but finds that cradling the disposable cups bearing Dean’s handwriting as he teaches, knowing that Dean’s hands had been wrapped around their warmth not even an hour before, makes him feel closer to the man. 

Wishing Mariana, tonight’s barista (between GSA meetings and his paper cup conversation with Dean, Castiel has gotten to know several of _I Dream of Beanie’s_ late crew), a good evening, he leaves the coffeeshop behind and heads to Little Angels to pick-up Claire. He hopes his message will manage to say all the things to the firefighter that he longs to be able to say to him in person, sometime very soon.

* * *

** _Thursday, April 4, 2019_ **

Dean’s got a good feeling about today.

Smiling, he holds his _I Dream of Beanie _cup carefully as he climbs out of the Impala and makes his way into the café down the block from Sam’s office. As much as he treasures each quote Cas has written him over the past several weeks (so what if he’s rinsed out each cup and lined them up for display on his desk at home? A man’s allowed to be sentimental in his own damn apartment!), he’d still be pissed if he spilled coffee all over his Baby’s interior. 

Walking into the restaurant, he catches Sam’s eye where he’s still waiting in line. Sam nods toward the crowded seating area and Dean takes the hint, moving to snag them a table. Finding a little two-seater by the front window, he settles himself in a chair, glad that he’d had the forethought to text Sam his order when they agreed to meet for lunch. This place is packed, but then, most of the restaurants in this area turn their biggest profit over the lunch hour. 

As he waits for Sam to appear with their lunch, he fidgets with the cup in front of him, grinning stupidly every time he re-reads today’s message to himself. The adorable cartoon bee that Dean secretly calls “Grumpy Bee Cas,” is missing today, but he can’t be sorry about that when he reads the words adorning the toss-away coffee-cup that may as well be the holy-freaking-grail as far as Dean’s concerned.

_“Then as it was, then again it will be_ _  
And though the course may change sometimes  
Rivers always reach the sea.”_

Dean recognized the quote immediately, of course, since it’s the opening line to Led Zeppelin’s _Ten Years Gone,_ one of the songs on the playlist he’d sent Cas early in their friendship, in an attempt to bolster Cas’ nearly non-existent knowledge of classic rock. He feels a warmth in his chest at the thought that Cas listened to those songs enough to quote one to Dean this many months later. And there, below the quote, are the first words of his own Cas has exchanged with Dean since the fight he thought had ended their friendship:

_“I don’t want to be ten years gone from you, Dean.”_

Dean notes that although both the quote and the message contain the word “be,” following the unwritten rules of their little quote exchange, Cas didn’t add the second “e” to it. This, as much as anything else, drives home just how meaningful, how serious this message is. This isn’t just some game, some friendly banter. This is a message straight from the heart—from Cas’ heart, and it’s meant for Dean.

Naturally, he’d listened to the song on the way over to meet Sam for lunch and he hums some of the song’s other lines to himself as he waits.

_“Changes fill my time, baby, that's alright with me  
In the midst I think of you, and how it used to be_

_Did you ever really need somebody  
And really need 'em bad  
Did you ever really want somebody  
The best love you ever had  
Do you ever remember me, baby  
Did it feel so good  
'Cause it was just the first time  
And you knew you would.”_

As he’d stared at the cup in his hand an hour earlier at _I Dream of Beanie_ while Layla, the chipper morning barista with the bright blue hair and brighter smile, held out the Sharpie to him expectantly, he knew immediately what his response would be. Though, his hands may have shaken just a little as he carefully penned the first two lines of the song’s ending stanza—

_“I'm never gonna leave you_ _  
I’m never gonna leave.”_

He supposes he could have misinterpreted Cas’ meaning in choosing to quote that particular Zepp song, but he doesn’t think so. _Ten Years Gone_ is a song about regret, about the pain of lost love and how it always stays with you. Robert Plant wrote the song about an ex-girlfriend who made him choose between her and his music. Plant didn’t regret his choice, but unless Dean’s mistaken, Cas is saying he does regret his. Cas is saying he wants Dean back and based on the rest of the song’s lyrics, there’s no way this a platonic sentiment. He feels tears well up in his eyes as he rubs his thumb over his name, inscribed in Cas’ messy handwriting.

“Still passing notes, huh? So, that means your relationship with Cas has officially reached the level of ten-year-old girl.” Dean jumps, startled from his thoughts by his brother’s teasing.

Sam smirks, earning a middle finger and a muttered, “Shuddup,” from Dean.

“You know, if the two of you manage to hit puberty by June, you might have a plus-one for the wedding after all.”

“Why don’t you just go ahead and say it, Sammy?” Dean asks moodily, leaning back in his chair.

“Say what?” his brother asks distractedly as he sets their sandwiches down on the table between them. Sam’s firm has been keeping him so busy the past couple of months, the occasional lunch in the city has been the most time the brothers have spent together since Dean’s ill-fated birthday party. As the new “kid” in the office, Sam gets stuck doing a lot of the grunt work the grown-up lawyers don’t want to be bothered with. Dean’s tried arguing that maybe if he would cut his damn hair, his colleagues might take him more seriously, but that just earned him Bitchface No. 19, which is the exact same face a newly-turned-twenty-one-year-old Sam gave him when Dean suggested he’d had enough tequila for one night. Kid hadn’t puked that much since the stomach flu that nearly landed him in the hospital when he was seven. On the plus side though, Sam’s work-distractions mean that Dean hasn’t been subjected to his younger brother’s usual well-intentioned, if excruciating, attempts to “help” him through his situation with Cas.

“I told you so,” Dean answers, bracing himself for the self-righteous reaction he’s sure has to be coming. “You told me not to get in too deep with Cas and I did anyways, and well, you know what happened…”

Sam’s face falls into that hangdog expression Dean knows all-too-well as he shakes his head and takes his seat across from Dean.

“I’m not gonna say that,” he says softly, earning a surprised expression from his older brother. Sighing, Sam runs a hand through his hair, before learning forward earnestly.

“Look, I know what I said before, but I didn’t know Cas then. Once I did get to know him, I liked him.” Sam shrugs. “I still do. And yeah, I’m upset that he hurt you, but I don’t know, you two… you just fit, you know? He’s your match, Dean, and if you get a second chance with him, I’m not gonna stand in the way of that.” Sam sits back in his chair with a satisfied expression, taking a huge bite out of his sub as his brother stares at him, dumbfounded.

“Oh,” is all Dean can think of to say. “Good. That’s good.”

_Quite the way with words you have, _his inner monologue teases, sounding a lot like Cas. Great, apparently Dean misses him so much, he’s taken to hearing the guy’s voice in his head now. ‘Cause that’s healthy.

“Besides,” Sam smirks, “I never got the chance to do my, ‘if you hurt my big brother’ speech the first time around. I mean, the guy was in a _wheelchair._ This time, Benny’s already promised to help me get rid of the body and with my knowledge of the law and his knowledge of law enforcement and combustibles, there’s no way we’d be caught.” 

Dean goggles at him for a moment before pointing across the table with an accusatory finger and grumbling, “I think I liked it better when you and Benny didn’t talk.”

Smirk widening, Sam takes another bite of his sandwich. Dean hides his answering smile in his own double-bacon, double-cheese club.

Yeah, he’s got a good feeling about this day.

* * *

The good feeling lasts until Dean gets his first call of the night. After so long on the job, you get a certain feeling about how a call is going to go, so Dean knows, even before they round the corner in one of the more well-to-do neighborhoods in their district to see the two story colonial blazing in front of them, that this is gonna be a rough one. He’s already headed toward the house, slinging his tank onto his back, when he catches a glimpse of the family standing nearby. A shaggy-haired boy that looks so much like a twelve-year-old Sammy it nearly takes Dean’s breath away stands holding a round-eyed baby girl who looks just a bit younger than Claire, though with darker hair and eyes. The boy’s eyes stare at his burning home with a glazed over expression, silent tears streaming down his cheeks unnoticed. A few feet away, a stocky man with graying hair at his temples strains against the grip a uniformed officer and EMT have on either arm, straining toward the ruined building, his screams drowned out by the roar of the flames.

Mouth tightening in a grim line, Dean turns toward the blaze and is preparing to lock his mask in place when Benny steps in front of him. Pulling off his mask, Dean looks to his lieutenant.

“Who’s still inside?” he asks as nonchalantly as he can manage, “another kid or just the mother?”

Not fooled for minute, Benny levels him with a heavy look. “I think you should sit this one out, Brother.”

Bristling, Dean steps into his friend’s space. 

“I said, who’s still inside?” Locking eyes, the two firefighters stare at each other for a long moment, before the blocky Cajun sighs. Benny might be his superior, but Dean’s got a stubborn streak a mile wide and they both know their department’s not so heavily staffed that they can afford to have able-bodied firefighters warming the bench.

“Just the mom. Dad said she got the baby out of her crib and handed her off to him, then went back to get the boy. They got separated and he got out, but she didn’t. He’s not even sure where they were last time he saw her. He thinks she made it downstairs, but he’s not positive.”

They’ve been walking toward the fire while they talked, joined by Victor. They’re close enough now that the heat is distinctly uncomfortable against Dean’s unprotected face. Clipping their masks into place, Dean heads into the burning home, his friends, his _brothers_, on either side. 

The kid had escaped through the front door, but as that’s now a belching maw of flame and putrid smoke, they enter through the garage instead. They’ll just have to hope the woman they’re searching for had headed for the less damaged parts of the house. They move from the garage, through a small mudroom and into the kitchen. Aside from smoke and heat damage, the kitchen is untouched by the fire. Passing the granite countertops and stainless steel appliances, Dean makes his way into the attached dining room, where a glossy cherry-colored table glows with reflected firelight in the center of the room, uncaring of the flowered wallpaper curling at the edges as flames lick into the room from the den beyond. 

The family’s great room is an inferno. The familiar black smoke billows around Dean as the fire-coated walls seem to writhe and twist. The flames are moving steadily toward the center of the room, the open stairway on the other side already completely alight and appearing to have buckled in places, the stretch of the second floor Dean can see engulfed in orange-red heat. Dean takes a step into the room and immediately learns what had separated the kid outside from his mom. On the far side of the room, against a writhing backdrop of flames, he sees the silhouette of a woman, lying face down on the floor. Scattered around her are a number of small squares and what look to be several large books. He takes another step, the floorboards wavering uncertainly under his weight. Scrapbooks. She’d gone back in, missed her chance to escape with her son, to retrieve their family photographs. Tiny, smiling faces look up at Dean, grinning eerily in the flickering firelight.

With the amount of thick, cloying smoke in the room, it wouldn’t be surprising if the poor woman has already succumbed to smoke inhalation. It might be a trick of the light, but Dean imagines that he sees the woman’s left hand flutter, just briefly. Maybe there’s still a chance. As he goes to take another step toward the unconscious mother, he feels a heavy, gloved hand on his shoulder.

Benny gestures upward with his other hand and Dean looks up to see the heavy chandelier swaying dangerously, two stories above, the ceiling bowing under its weight, crimson-orange firelight glinting wickedly off hundreds of dancing crystals. Shit. Moving faster, Dean makes a beeline for the fallen woman. They’ve got minutes, at best, before that chandelier falls and releases nine circles of hell into this room.

He’s almost made it, just feet from his target, when he hears an audible crack. He doesn’t even have time to look up before the chandelier crashes to the ground in front of him, blocking his view of the woman on the floor. Another step forward, and he would have been crushed underneath. As it is, Dean staggers, pitching forward over the shattered remains of the chandelier, burning drywall crashing down around him as the great room ceiling collapses, raining fire from above. 

For just a moment, he thinks he sees Mary Winchester’s terrified face staring at him from the flames.

Dean falls.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> CW: house fire, minor character death via house fire (an "extra" really), worrying things happen to Dean
> 
> And yes, THAT'S the cliffhanger. 
> 
> After you're done yelling at me for it in the comments, tell me what you thought of Dean's gift and their bee quotes! Got a favorite quote of your own that would fit with their "bee" theme? It really was a challenge to find quotes after those first few! 😂
> 
> And if you'd like to see the inspiration for Cas' mug, take a look [here](https://www.etsy.com/listing/701063607/honeycomb-honey-bee-tumbler?gpla=1&gao=1&utm_campaign=shopping_us_WiseChoiceDesignShop_sfc_osa&utm_medium=cpc&utm_source=google&utm_custom1=0&utm_content=19821340&gclid=CjwKCAjwnf7qBRAtEiwAseBO_BU_aNTxNXAZ53o8-Okc0EPuDdmHBehDaCpwETRBdx8qVoDRAx0DShoCgrsQAvD_BwE). Please note, I do not have any affiliation with this Etsy shop, aside from the fact that we share a mutual acquaintance: Google.
> 
> As promised, you will not have to wait an entire week for the resolution to that cliffhanger! In fact, the next chapter will post **Thursday**! 
> 
> And in case you're interested, here's a list of the quotes Dean and Cas bastardized in this chapter:
> 
> “To thine own self be true.” -William Shakespeare, Hamlet: Act 1, Scene 3  
“To be or not to be: that is the question.” -William Shakespeare, Hamlet: Act 3, Scene 1  
“Everything was beautiful, and nothing hurt.” -Kurt Vonnegut, Slaughterhouse-Five  
“For though they may be parted, there is still a chance that they will see. There will be an answer, let it be.” -The Beatles, Let it Be  
“Don’t worry, bee happy?” -Bobby McFerrin, Don't Worry, Be Happy  
“Then as it was, then again it will be  
And though the course may change sometimes  
Rivers always reach the sea.”  
and  
“I'm never gonna leave you  
I’m never gonna leave.”  
-Led Zeppelin, Ten Years Gone


	22. Chapter 22

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> There will bee an answer. 
> 
> Let it bee.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello, friends!!
> 
> Thank you all so, so, so much for all of your comments and kudos! I was each of you to know that whether you've commented on every chapter, or only one chapter, or have left kudos, or have just read this story and (hopefully) enjoyed it, each and every one of you means so damn much to me! THANK YOU.
> 
> And now, I believe you're all waiting for something? 😉
> 
> Check out the end notes for warnings.

** _Friday, April 5, 2019_ **

Castiel gropes groggily with one hand for his phone on the nightstand, while the other searches for his glasses. He squints at the digital clock next to his glowing, buzzing phone on its charger. It’s after midnight. Who could be calling him this late? It’s with an increasing feeling of dread that he finally fumbles his glasses onto his face as he holds the phone up to see who’s calling: Benny. Castiel only knows that because he’d saved the Cajun’s number in his phone while planning Dean’s surprise party.

A lead weight settles in his stomach. There’s only one reason Benny would be calling him, especially in the middle of the night.

_Dean._

Panic rising, he swipes up to accept the call.

“Benny?”

“Hey there, Castiel.” The firefighter sounds tired, too tired even for the usual edge his voice seems to carry whenever he’s forced to interact with Castiel. “Sorry about the late-night call. I got your number from Sam. Is Dean with you?”

A brief sense of relief washed over him. If Benny’s looking for Dean, that means Dean’s not been horribly injured (or worse) in a fire. It’s followed up almost immediately with a different kind of concern though. Why is Benny looking for Dean at a quarter-past twelve? In fact, unless Dean’s schedule has changed sometime in the past two months (and based on the timing of Castiel’s coffee deliveries, he’s pretty sure it hasn’t), Dean should be working tonight and should be _with_ Benny.

“No, he’s not here. What’s going on, Benny? Shouldn’t Dean be at the station, with you?” Castiel gets out of bed, pulling on his light grey dressing robe and charcoal slippers. He has a feeling this isn’t a conversation he’s going to be falling back to sleep after.

Castiel hears a scuffling that sounds like Benny pulling out a chair at the fire house’s small dinette set. “We had a call, early tonight, in one of those high-end neighborhoods with all the new construction. Big colonial, house was less than a year old, family of four. When we got there, everyone was out but the mom.”

“You let him go in?” he asks Benny incredulously. He knows how difficult house fires can be for Dean in general. Having to go inside a burning house after someone’s mother? He can’t even imagine what that must have been like for Dean. 

“You ever try stoppin’ Dean from doin’ something he’s dead set on?” the Cajun counters dryly.

Castiel can’t pull back the bitter chuckle that escapes him as he remembers his last conversation with Dean.

“Yeah, I guess you would know somethin’ about that,” Benny says, voice carefully neutral. 

Guilt and bile burn in the back of Castiel’s throat as he asks, “What happened?”

“We found her alright, unconscious on the living room floor, surrounded by the family photos she’d gone back in to save. Dean was almost to her when the chandelier fell, brought the whole damn ceiling down with it.” The firefighter pauses at Castiel’s gasp.

“Dean was okay. Damn thing knocked him off balance and he fell, but Victor and I got him up ‘n outta there, alright.” Benny clears his throat, “the mom didn’t make it, though.”

Heart dropping into his stomach, Castiel grips the phone tighter at Benny’s words. What must that have done to Dean? To see happen to another set of children what had happened to him and Sam? He knows this can’t have been the first time something like this has happened in Dean’s long tenure with the department and once again marvels at how strong, how _good_, his friend is.

It takes a moment before he realizes that Benny’s still talking, almost to himself. “The fire hadn’t been going long enough that it shoulda collapsed the whole damn ceiling like that. If it hadn’t been for that chandelier, it woulda held. I got a feeling that thing wasn’t secured to a strong enough support beam. That’s the problem with all this new construction. Damn contractors are throwin ’em up so quick, they’re cuttin’ corners.”

Castiel knows Benny’s surely far more exhausted than he is, which is likely the cause of his rambling, but his nerves are frayed and the last of his patience snaps. “And at what point exactly did you _lose_ Dean?”

Benny cuts off his babbling sharply. “About two months after you did, I reckon,” the Cajun drawls darkly and Castiel winces. He more than deserves that, but it’s Benny that apologizes first.

“Shit, I’m sorry, Castiel. This ain’t the time.” The burly Cajun sighs. “We left Dean with the EMTs and went back to help get the fire under control. When I went back an hour later to check on him, he was gone.”

“And you have no idea where he could have gone?”

“Sam found his car by a pretty popular watering hole not far from the station, but he wasn’t there and no one Sam talked to on that street had seen hide nor hair of him. Sam’s still out there looking, along with your brother.”

“Gabe’s helping?” Castiel’s torn between feeling bitter that his brother was included in the search for Dean before he was, guilty because it’s his own fault he was left out, and heart-warmed at the thought of Gabe spending his night searching for the one other person who means as much to Castiel as his brother and Claire.

“Yep. He was the closest person Sam could think of to where he was searching.” Castiel takes a moment to feel relieved that Gabe is back to living in his Kansas City apartment, instead of sleeping on Castiel’s sofa.

“What can I do to help?” he asks immediately. Obviously he can’t go out and search with Claire here, but there must be something else he can do to help find Dean. “Do you need me to make some calls?”

“Nah. We’ve got Gabe and Sam out lookin’ for him and Bobby has all the local EMTs and uniforms keepin’ an eye out too. He hasn’t come into the ED on a rig anywhere or we woulda heard about it. Jo’s called the area hospitals directly to see if he came in on his own or with a civilian, but no dice there either. Charlie and Jess are callin’ up every bar and late-night diner open in the Kansas City area… both Kansas Cities, that is. I’m here at the station in case he shows up back here. Ellen checked out his apartment first thing and now she’s set up camp at the Roadhouse. The only other place we can think of that he might go is your place. We just need you to be there and be awake in case he does.”

“I can do that,” Castiel assures. He feels distinctly agitated knowing there isn’t anything _more_ he can do, but Benny’s right. It sounds like they really do have everything covered.

He hangs up the phone after agreeing to call Benny or Sam, should Dean show up. As soon as hits the “end” button, he’s opening his message window with Gabe, asking him if they’ve found any sign of Dean yet. He thinks about texting Sam as well, but fear and shame still his hands. Benny’s clearly furious with Castiel for hurting Dean, surely Dean’s own brother would be even more so. A few exchanged texts with Gabriel confirms that no, there’s still no sign of him and Castiel heads for his kitchen to brew a cup of coffee, not that there’s any chance his jangled nerves would let him fall asleep.

Nearly an hour later, Castiel paces the length of his apartment, wondering if it’s too soon to call Sam and check in. He’s past worrying about whether or not his call will be welcome. Sam can say whatever he wants to him as long as he tells him that Dean is okay. Just as he’s about to hit the call button next to Sam’s contact info, he hears a soft thud from the hallway outside his apartment.

Rushing to the door, Castiel feels a surge of disappointment when he looks out the peephole to see an empty hallway. Just to be certain, he cautiously opens the door and steps out into the hall, sagging in relief as he sees Dean sitting slumped against the wall next to his door. 

“Dean, thank God!” he says, his voice trembling with adrenaline and relief as he helps the conscious, but clearly inebriated Winchester to his feet. 

“’M sorry, Cas,” Dean slurs, “Shouldn’a come ‘ere.”

“Dean, Benny told me about the fire. I’m so sorry,” Castiel murmurs as he pulls Dean into his apartment and guides him down the hall toward the living room, one arm wrapped around the firefighter’s waist.

Dean waves him off, collapsing heavily on the living room sofa. “Couldn’ save ‘er. Course I couldn’t. Can’t save anyone. Not my mom. Not my dad. Jus’ let everyone down. Couldn’t be the son my dad needed. Couldn’t be the boyfriend Lisa needed. Couldn’t even be the friend you needed.”

Cas’ vision goes blurry and he’s hit with a wave of self-loathing so strong it takes his breath away. He doesn’t even realize he’s stopped breathing until his chest starts to burn and he swallows down the painful lump in his throat.

“Oh, Dean.”

How could Castiel have been so cruel? So heartless? He’s been so fixated on his own abandonment issues he’s never stopped to consider that Dean might be dealing with the same. And of course, he is. Dean’s parents may not have rejected him the way Castiel’s did, but they still left Dean and while Castiel at least has the possibility, however unlikely it may seem, of a future reconciliation, Dean’s loss is permanent. 

Dean had even been rejected and abandoned by his first love, much like Castiel was. Yes, Dean was much younger than he had been, still a child really, but that just made the hurt that much more poignant. Castiel should know as much. He works with high schoolers every day and he knows how strongly they feel things. It’s one of the things he likes best about them.

The defeated man on Castiel’s couch places his head in his hands and lets out a shaky breath, accompanied by a soft sob, “And Claire…”

“No,” Castiel drops to his knees in front of Dean and gently pulls the firefighter’s hands away from his face. Seeing those warm green irises swimming in red-rimmed eyes, he doesn’t fight his own tears as he says gently but firmly, “Dean, you haven’t let anyone down, least of all myself or Claire.”

“’M so sorry, Cas. I shouldn’a left. Shouldn’a left you,” Dean says roughly, shaking his head, “but I didn’t. Not really. I thought about you every day, every _hour_, Cas. I’m still here, Cas. Always gon’ be here. I’ve never left anyone behind in my goddamn life.”

His voice turns to a whisper, “I don’t even know how.” 

Castiel searches Dean’s eyes, looking helplessly back at him and sees the truth, the same truth Missouri tried to tell him weeks ago: Dean doesn’t leave people behind. He had to leave that poor woman behind in that fire today and it nearly broke him. He had to leave Castiel and Claire behind at Castiel’s insistence and that nearly broke him too. 

One of those, Castiel can fix.

He stands, pulling Dean up with him. The intoxicated man sways before gripping Castiel’s forearms for balance and resting his forehead on Castiel’s shoulder. 

“I should go,” Dean murmurs without pulling away. “Should go before I do something stupid, like tell you how much I love you,” he mumbles into Castiel’s chest.

Breath catching in his throat at Dean’s unintentional confession, Castiel stifles the urge to tell Dean he loves him back. Those are words that he wants Dean to hear sober for the first time.

Instead, he wraps his arms around Dean tightly and tells him, “The only place you’re going is to bed.”

Pulling back, he places a finger that he desperately wishes was his mouth, against Dean’s lips as he tries to speak.

“Bed now. We’ll talk later.”

Dean allows himself to be guided to the bedroom, holding onto Castiel for balance as he toes off his boots and shucks off his jeans and overshirt. Once he’s down to just a t-shirt and boxers, Castiel sits him on the bed, handing him several ibuprofen from his nightstand drawer (the only pain medication he still needs for his sometimes achey lower half), before reaching for the water bottle he keeps on the nightstand and tipping it against Dean’s lips. Dean drinks obediently, then slides under the blankets as Castiel lifts them. He’s pretty sure the firefighter’s asleep before he even has the covers pulled up. 

He allows himself just a moment of smiling down at the beautiful man in his bed before shaking himself and retreating to the living room to text Sam and Benny.

Only a minute later, Castiel’s phone pings with an incoming message.

Today, 2:47 AM

Sam Winchester SENT:

Thank God! I can come pick him up. Just give me 30.

Frowning at his phone, Castiel types a response.

Today, 2:48 AM

You SENT:

There’s no need Sam. He’s sleeping. I can drive him back to wherever he left his car tomorrow.

A couple minutes pass before his phone pings again. Seeing the response, Castiel fights down a surge of irritation and shame before replying.

Today, 2:50 AM

Sam Winchester SENT:

I’m not sure that’s a good idea, Cas. 

Today, 2:48 AM

You SENT:

Please, Sam. Dean chose to come here. I can take care of him.

After a moment’s consideration, he texts again.

Today, 2:49 AM

You SENT:

I’m not going to make things worse.

I’m not going to hurt him again.

He’s barely dropped his hand from hitting “Send,” when he feels his phone buzzing against his palm. Accepting the call, he raises the phone to his ear.

“Are you sure, Cas?” comes Sam’s quiet voice. He sounds exhausted.

“I’m sure, Sam. Dean and I need to talk and if he’s willing, I’d like that talk to happen tomorrow. I know what a delicate state he’s in right now. I’m not going to hurt him worse, I promise,” he reiterates.

Sam sighs, “Whatever you’ve got to say to him, Cas, if it’s what I think it is, you better mean it and you better not get cold feet and change your mind a few days or a few weeks from now.” 

Castiel can tell Sam is trying to sound firm and authoritative right now, but instead his voice comes out young and desperate. He can hear how frightened the younger man is for his brother and he wishes he could say more to assuage his friend’s worries, but he can’t tell Dean’s brother about his feelings before he tells the man himself.

“Never,” Castiel answers firmly, and he means it. He means it to his very core. 

After a long pause, Sam answers, “Okay.”

“Okay?”

“Yeah, Cas, okay,” the other man sighs. “I know Dean hasn’t been the only one hurting, here. You’re both a couple of neurotic idiots, you know that, right?”

Cas belts out a wet laugh and wipes a hand over his tired face in surprised relief. He hadn’t realized how much Sam’s acceptance, his forgiveness, meant to him.

“I’m sorry, Sam,” he whispers.

“You don’t owe me anything, Cas. I just want you both to be happy. I think you could be good for each other, if you let yourselves. Anyway, I should get going, call off the Amber alert and let everyone know Dean’s okay. Tell him to check in with me tomorrow.” Sam pauses. “And thanks, Cas.”

“Of course. Goodnight, Sam.”

Ending the call with a smile, Castiel peaks in on Claire to find her sound asleep with her knees tucked up under her, diapered bottom sticking up in the air. Closing her door softly and returning to the living room, he stares at the couch in deliberation. There was no way he was going to let Dean sleep on the couch, but his sleeping there would probably be very bad for his still-healing body and the apartment only has one bed. Chewing his bottom lip, he decides he doesn’t have much choice and will just have to hope Dean won’t be angry with him in the morning.

Walking back to the bedroom, he slides under the covers on the far side of the bed and replaces his glasses on the nightstand. He lies on his side, facing Dean, and marvels again that he can do this now, when just a few short months ago lying like this would have been unbearably painful. He watches Dean’s face for a moment in the dark, smiling at how peaceful he looks in his sleep. Fighting down an urge to wrap the firefighter in his arms, he instead contents himself with reaching out and hooking a single finger in the cuff of Dean’s sleeve. 

_I love you, _Castiel says in his mind, thinking about tomorrow when he’ll finally say those words out loud. He just hopes Dean’s still willing to listen. He falls asleep still grasping Dean’s t-shirt.

* * *

Dean blinks his eyes shut against the harsh daylight streaming into the bedroom and shifts his weight away from the blinding light, rolling onto his side on the bed.

The bed that squishes under his bulk and molds to his body instead of holding firm like the mattress in his room. 

_His_ room, where there wouldn’t be any sunlight to blind him thanks to the heavy blackout curtains—a necessity for someone who works nights for half of each month. 

_Fuck._ What did he do?

He takes a brief moment to feel grateful he’s still wearing his boxers and t-shirt, which hopefully means it’s just a matter of figuring out _what_ he did last night and not _who_ he did. Dean rarely drinks more than a beer or two, the most obvious reason being his dad’s alcoholism, but also because of his tendency to black out and make really stupid fucking choices when he’s had a few too many. And judging from the sour taste in his mouth and the odor coming off his shirt, what he’d had a few too many of last night included something a lot more potent than beer.

Opening bleary eyes that feel dry and probably look bloodshot all to hell, Dean glances around the very familiar bedroom, feeling the bottom suddenly drop out of his already questionable stomach.

“Shit! Fuck, fuck, fuck, _shit_,” he hisses as scrambles up against Cas’ headboard, searching frantically for the rest of his clothes. 

“They’re in the laundry room,” a deep, familiar voice Dean has been aching to hear for weeks now says from the doorway and Dean freezes.

“Cas,” he croaks out hoarsely, sounding almost as pathetic as he feels right now.

Crossing the room in long strides that look far more fluid than they did the last time Dean saw him, Cas presses a steaming mug of black coffee into Dean’s hands before taking a step back to lean against the dresser that’s been moved back to this side of the room, since Cas no longer needs space next to his bed for a wheelchair or walker.

“How are you feeling?” Cas asks and Dean glances up briefly, only to look quickly away again from the open concern in Cas’ clear, sapphire eyes. He’s not sure he can handle Cas’ kindness or his pity, whichever this is, right now.

“Uh, better than I probably should, actually,” he answers, a little surprised. “Head’s swimmin’ a little and so’s my stomach, but not bad for a guy who got blackout drunk last night.” The end of that sentence feels bitter in his mouth and he knows he’s red-faced with shame.

“How much do you remember from last night?” Cas asks neutrally and Dean grimaces, wondering how much _Cas_ knows about last night.

“I know about the fire… and what happened during, but not how you got from there to here,” Cas answers Dean’s unasked question.

“Honestly? That’s about as much as I know, too. I caught a ride with a uniform back to the station to pick up Baby, then headed for the nearest liquor I could find.” He squints, trying to piece together the fuzzy recollections swimming around his brain. “I remember sittin’ at some shit bar and workin’ my way through the better part of a Jack Daniels bottle before the bartender cut me off. Then I stumbled outside and decided I’d better call an Uber. Fuck, I left Baby parked outside some dive bar in Kansas City and I’m not even sure which one.”

Panic mixes with the shame still swirling in Dean’s stomach, but Cas cuts it off before it can make Dean as physically sick as he feels emotionally right now. “Baby’s fine. Sam found her last night. I called him a little while ago, while you were still sleeping. He grabbed your spare key from your apartment and he and Jess went to pick her up this morning. He’s expecting a call from you later today to check in though, and he said you ‘owe him big’ for this. There was mention of you hand calligraphing all three hundred of their reception place cards.”

Dean groans in mingled relief and dread. “Done. I’ll even braid the little sasquatch’s hair for the big day if he wants, after this.” 

Cas’ lips tip up in a small almost-smile and it makes Dean’s chest hurt. He clears his throat. “I, uh, don’t really remember coming here though.” He winces. “Or what I said or did once I got here.”

Cas gives him a brief run-down of his side of events, noticeably skipping over any conversational details (Dean’s a chatty drunk and he knows it) and ending with how he poured ibuprofen and water down Dean’s gullet before he passed out, which explains why he feels less like roadkill than he has any right to this morning.

“Fuck, Cas, I’m sorry. I didn’t mean to put all my bullshit on you. Look, I fucked up and I know I shouldn’t have come here…”

“Dean,” Cas cuts him off with a frown, “You had a terrible and traumatic experience yesterday. Maybe drinking yourself into oblivion wasn’t the _best_ coping mechanism, but you did it as responsibly as you could. You stopped drinking and left without incident when the bartender cut you off, you made the choice to take an Uber instead of driving, and you went somewhere safe where there was someone to help you instead of going home alone. All in all, yesterday and last night could have gone so much worse.” His voice warbles on the last word and guilt clenches in Dean’s stomach. Now, on top of everything else, he’s gone and worried Cas. Scared him even. 

“I could have called someone,” he argues. “Could have talked to someone.”

“Sometimes you can’t. It’s hard to talk when you can’t even _breathe_,” Cas whispers and Dean’s never felt so understood in his life. That was exactly how he’d felt as he sat in that bar, downing shots of whiskey, not even able to ask the bartender for a refill, just tapping his glass with a shaking finger. 

He still shakes his head though. “I still shouldn’t have come here. I’m sorry, Cas. I know things were getting better between us and the last thing I wanted to do was rush you and fuck everything up again. Look, just let me grab my things and I can get out of here. I know you’ve got Claire and everything and the last thing you need is some guy showin’ up drunk on your doorstep in the middle of the night.” His voice breaks and shame floods him. How could he have done that? How could he have shown up here, trashed out of his mind, knowing that _Claire_ was in the house? 

“Dean,” Cas cuts off his rambling with a nod at the cooling coffee mug in Dean’s hands, “drink your coffee.”

Wrinkling his eyebrows at the meaningful look Cas shoots at the mug, Dean glances down at the white cup. One side bears a stenciled, black and white image of a bee, with the words, “Save the bees,” printed above it. The blank side of the mug however, has a messy handwritten message scrawled on it in black Sharpie. Lifting the mug to eye level, Dean reads the text silently.

“_Everything will bee okay, Dean. Please don’t ‘bug’ out.”_

He raises an eyebrow at Cas, who’s looking suddenly nervous (and adorable) in his spot by the dresser. “_Bug _out?”

“It’s not my best work,” Cas acknowledges with a shrug, “but in my defense, I’ve had less than four hours of sleep and I could hear you freaking out in here. Time was of the essence.”

He can’t help but snort a quiet laugh at that. Cas’ lips flutter in that almost-smile again and Dean feels the beginnings of hope flicker in his chest.

“What time is it, anyway?” he asks to distract himself from the way his heart is doing somersaults with the knowledge that Cas asked him to _stay_, in writing no less. Right hand still clutched around the coffee mug, he reaches for his phone with his left, fumbling it as he tries to disconnect Cas’ charger cord from it one-handed. The phone hits the floor with a dull thud and Cas follows, stooping down and kneeling to pick up the wayward device with an ease that would astound Dean if their positions weren’t suddenly the mirror image of _that night_.

Cas notices as well, body freezing and eyes going wide as he looks up at Dean from the floor. After a long moment, Cas swallows and the spell breaks. Blushing faintly, he hands Dean his phone, avoiding eye contact as he rises and sits on the edge of the bed, facing Dean.

“It’s about half past ten. You aren’t expected at the firehouse for the next couple of days and Claire’s at daycare the rest of the afternoon, then she’s spending the evening with Gabe and Kali. I thought maybe we could talk?” Cas says it like a question, eyebrows lifting hopefully at the end, and Dean’s struck anew by how beautiful he is, all soft and rumpled with his chapped lips, morning stubble, and bedhead-of-the-gods. 

_YES! _The answering cry resounds in Dean’s mind, echoing throughout every part of his body until he feels like it might surge out of him, but he forces it down. He remembers all too well what happened last time he pushed Cas too far and he’s determined to let Cas set the pace this time.

“Are you sure you’re ready?” he asks instead. “I meant it when I said I didn’t mean to rush things. We don’t have to have this conversation now, just because I’m here.” 

Cas shakes his head sheepishly. “To be honest, I’ve been trying to get up the nerve to have this conversation for the last couple weeks. There are things I need to tell you. I’m just a coward.” 

“You’re the bravest person I know,” Dean argues softly, blushing at the hopeful look Cas gives him in response to that. “And I always wanna talk to you, just so you know, even if I don’t like what you’re sayin’.”

He takes a deep breath. “I’ll listen to whatever you want to tell me, but you don’t _have _to tell me anything you don’t want to. You don’t owe me anything, Cas, and I’m sorry if I made it seem like I thought you did that night. I should have backed off when you asked me to.”

“I do want to tell you though, Dean. I want you to know why I reacted the way I did that night. I know I’ve told you bits and pieces about my relationship with Bart, but there are things I didn’t tell you.”

So, Dean listens as Cas tells him about the gas lighting and goddamn abuse his ex put him through, for fucking _years_. He listens as Cas tells him about how Bart isolated him, made Cas dependent on him, made him feel like Cas _needed _him, like Cas couldn’t survive on his own. His heart breaks when Cas tells him that he believed it. For years he believed that he was helpless, and unloved, and unlovable. Gabe had been right on the money with what he’d shared with Dean at the bakery, but Christ, he’d barely scratched the surface of the daily hell that had been Cas’ life.

Dean’s hands clench into fists as he listens to Cas recount his phone call with Bart that night, the things the asshole said, the vile thoughts and insecurities he pulled to forefront of Cas’ mind. He cheers internally, so goddamn proud, when Cas talks about how he stood up to Bart and he breaks all over again when Cas describes how he’d wanted to call Dean back at the end of their fight, but couldn’t find the words.

_Sometimes you can’t. It’s hard to talk when you can’t even breathe._

Cas clears this throat. “Missouri thinks it was a panic attack. She thinks my accident isn’t the only thing I’ve been experiencing PTSD from. She says that long-term domestic abuse, even if it’s not physical, can cause post-traumatic symptoms as well. I’m,” he hesitates and looks down, “seeing a psychiatrist now too and I’ve got medication to help when I’m having an attack like that.”

Dean stares at the man across from him in awe. Castiel is beyond the shadow of a doubt, the bravest person Dean has ever met. The hits have been coming at Cas his whole goddamn life, but no matter how many times he gets knocked down, he gets back up again without a second thought, like giving up isn’t even an option to him. He’s rebuilt his life, hell rebuilt _himself_, time and again: mentally, emotionally, and now physically. And Dean wants that for him, he does, but he also wants Cas to know that, for the first time in his life, he doesn’t have to do it _alone_ anymore.

“You’re incredible,” he says, immediately raising a hand to cut Cas off when he suddenly looks up, disagreement plain in his eyes. “You _are._ You’re fierce, and independent, and so unbelievably strong it takes my breath away, man. And I would _never_ try to take that from you.” 

“I know…”

“I know you know that,” Dean says, refusing to let Cas cut-in because this needs to be said out loud, for both of them. “But I’m gonna say it anyway. I don’t need you to _need_ me, Cas. Hell, I don’t _want_ you to need me. Don’t get me wrong, I will _always_ be there for you, whenever and wherever you need to me to be, but that’s not why I want you with me. I want you to be with me because you _want me._”

Dean’s shocked at just how strongly he means those words. People have always needed Dean. Needed him to be a good son, good brother, good boyfriend, worker, or stand-in-father. It was so easy to fall into that role with Cas, to try to be what Cas needs, but what really excites him about Cas, is the way he makes Dean feel _wanted_. He just hopes he really is what Cas wants.

Cas looks at him with shining eyes, “If there’s one thing the past two months have proven to me, it’s that I don’t need you, Dean, but I really, really do want you.” Dean’s flying and it’s taking all of his resolve not to tackle Cas to the bed right now, but he keeps his seat, knowing Cas isn’t finished. “I was so afraid, so _terrified_, that if a romantic relationship failed between us, I’d lose you entirely. And not only you, but Sam and Jess, Ellen and Bobby, even Charlie. I didn’t want to lose my friends. My family.” Tears are swimming in the oceans of Cas’ eyes and Dean can’t help it. Unable to fight the urge to touch Cas any longer, he sets the “Save the Bees” mug on the night stand before scooching closer to where Cas sits with one leg folded up on the bed and reaching out an unsteady hand. 

Cas reaches forward with a wobbly smile, tangling their fingers together as he brings Dean’s hand down to his knee.

“Cas,” Dean chides gently, “that’s not how family works. Not this one at least. Family don’t end in blood, but it doesn’t start there either. Family’s there. For the good, bad, all of it. They got your back. Even when it hurts. That’s family. And family doesn’t end.”

“The thing I said, about Lydia,” Cas starts, voice thick with tears and regret. “I didn’t mean it. I don’t know why I said it. I just needed you to stop. I wanted…” he trails off.

_To hurt you, _Dean knows, is what he’s not saying. Just like Dean said that bullshit about “needing space” to hurt Cas. And yeah, it still stings, just like it still hurts knowing that Cas would think, even for a minute, that Dean could be anything like Bart, but those hurts pale in comparison to the pain of Cas missing from his life for the past ten weeks. 

“I know,” he says, “We both said and did things we didn’t mean that night. For the record, _space_ is the last thing I needed from you and I am so, so sorry I left that night, Cas.” Cas smiles weakly and Dean holds Cas’ eyes with his own, not wanting him to miss a word of what he has to say next. He’s thought about these words a lot over the past couple months: what he wishes he’d said to Cas that night. He may have even rehearsed them a time or two (dozen) in front of his bathroom mirror.

“As for all that other stuff Bart was fillin’ your head with… all those things you were thinking about how ‘all you are’ is a school teacher and a single parent… I don’t believe that for a minute, but if that’s the case then it’s just fine, because it turns out that ‘all you are’ is all I want.”

Hearing Cas’ sharp intake of breath, Dean tightens his grip on the other man’s hand. “I’m not looking for excitement, or adventure, or a project, Castiel. If I want a project, I’ll build you a goddamn bookshelf for those boxes of books you still haven’t unpacked. If I want excitement, I’ll learn to skydive. And quite honestly, building a life with you and Claire sounds like the best adventure I could possibly imagine.”

Cas’ lips quirk, even as tears fill his eyes. “You hate airplanes,” he points out wetly.

“Well yeah,” Dean quips back without thinking, “but I love you.”

His breath catches in his throat and his eyes widen as he realizes what he just said. Cas though, looks suspiciously unfazed, biting back a smile, amusement and affection dancing in his glistening blue eyes.

“You don’t look surprised by that,” Dean says accusingly.

“You may have mentioned it last night,” Cas admits, letting out a chuckle as Dean groans and reaches behind him with his free hand for a pillow, which he promptly buries his face in, internally cursing his drunk, gossipy self.

Cas tightens the fingers of the hand still intertwined with Dean’s, tugging until Dean looks up from the safety of his humiliation-pillow.

“What I didn’t say last night, is that I love you, too.”

Dean sits up, a hopeful smile pulling at his lips as he sways forward, finally giving into the gravity that’s been pulling him toward Cas for the past seven months. “So, are you saying that you do…”

“I love you, Dean,” Cas’ voice cracks as the tears that have been building behind his long eyelashes finally spill over. “I love you so much.”

The pillow gets ejected to the floor as Cas takes its place in Dean’s arms. Cas sniffles into his shoulder and Dean feels a coolness where the slight breeze from Cas’s ceiling fan brushes against the salty tear tracks on his own face. He’s not sure how long they stay like that, just holding one another, indulging in the closeness they’ve both been craving for so long.

Eventually though, Cas pulls back, though he squeezes when Dean finds his hand and loops their fingers together again, not ready to break contact completely.

Cas is looking at him with unabashed love in his eyes, but it’s his lips that have Dean captivated right now. Licking his own and watching Cas’ eyes follow the motion, he murmurs, “Cas?”

“Hmm?” Cas answers, eyes never leaving Dean’s lips.

“I really wanna kiss you right now.” Cas leans in and Dean grimaces. “But I should probably brush my teeth first.” They’ve both waited so long for this moment, Dean is _not_ going to ruin it with hangover breath.

Fortunately, Cas just chuckles and takes Dean’s hand before standing and pulling Dean to his feet.

“You could probably use a shower too. You kind of smell like a bar.” Dean winces, but doesn’t disagree as Cas pulls him along to the bathroom. He rummages in the vanity drawer for a second, before handing Dean an unopened toothbrush and Cas’ own tube of minty fresh toothpaste. Dean tries to ignore the fluttery feeling in his stomach at the simple intimacy of sharing someone’s bathroom effects.

_Pull yourself together, Winchester. It’s just Colgate for fuck’s sake, you giant girl._

As he opens the toothbrush and gets to work on the most thorough toothbrushing of his life, he watches Cas in the bathroom mirror, setting up for Dean’s shower. He turns on the hot water, reaching a hand into the spray and adjusting the temperature until he’s satisfied, before pulling the curtain shut and turning to the small linen closet next to the bathtub. Cas retrieves a small stack of fluffy gray towels and sets them on the back of the toilet. Dean’s eyebrows knit in confusion as he does his final rinse and dries his mouth on the clean hand towel Cas set on the vanity. He’s about to protest that he really doesn’t need that many towels, he’s just one dude after all, when he finds his mouth suddenly occupied.

He starts in surprise at the sudden kiss, before sinking into the feeling of Cas’ dry lips against his own, one of his hands cradling the back of Dean’s head while the other cups his cheek. Dean wraps his arms around Cas’ waist, pulling the man to him until their chests press together. Cas trails the hand on Dean’s cheek down to his shoulder, fisting it in Dean’s shirt sleeve like he’s afraid Dean might disappear.

All thoughts of toiletries and towels disappear as Cas parts Dean’s lips with a tentative tongue. Dean opens willingly, the taste of Cas’ coffee mingling with the flavor of his minty toothpaste. Okay, so it’s not the most pleasant flavor combination, but Dean doesn’t care, because this is _Cas_. Dean’s kissing Cas and that’s all that matters here. Who cares how long it took them to get here, how many mistakes they’ve made along the way, or how many towels…

Oh.

_Oh._

Tightening his arms around Cas’ waist, Dean kisses with renewed vigor. Cas responds just as eagerly, surging against Dean and pressing him backward against the countertop, the cool feeling of granite through his thin pinstriped boxers a sharp contrast to the heat he feels everywhere else. Cas’ arms have migrated beneath Dean’s own, wrapping around them and gripping Dean’s shoulders from behind. His hips pin Dean’s against the vanity and Dean can feel himself hardening in his boxers at the feeling. Then Cas shifts his hips and Dean feels the press of the other man’s half-hard cock against his thigh. He lets out an unintentional and completely un-fucking-avoidable moan at the realization that Cas is just as affected by their kiss as he is.

Panting, Dean breaks the kiss, feeling suddenly nervous. Cas loosens his grip and draws back so he can meet Dean’s eyes, but doesn’t let him go, for which Dean is incredibly grateful. Letting go of Cas isn’t something he plans to do, well, ever really.

“Dean? Is something wrong?” Cas asks gently, blue eyes searching Dean’s own from behind his black-rimmed glasses. He looks so genuinely concerned that Dean’s heart turns over in his chest again and at this rate, he’s going to need a cardiologist before he turns thirty-two. 

“The last time we did this was…” Dean trails off, unsure how to phrase what he wants to say. He bites his lip for a moment, trying to think of how to explain his sudden nerves.

“Incredibly awkward?” Cas offers.

“So. Fucking. Awkward.” Dean agrees on a very relieved exhale.

“So, are you trying to warn me to expect more of the same, or are you saying you think we can do better?”

“Um, better, I think. Not that last time wasn’t good. It was. It was great. Like, really, really great. Christ, I just mean I’m not usually that awkward talking about sex, is all. Just that last time.”

Cas looks at him.

“And this time.”

Cas raises an eyebrow.

Dean sighs. “And every other time since you met me.” He hides his face in Cas’ shoulder, who chuckles. 

“Fortunately for you, you’re adorable when you’re awkward.”

“I used to be smooth,” Dean mumbles, his voice muffled by Cas’ t-shirt.

“I believe you,” Cas says seriously.

“No, you don’t,” Dean mumbles petulantly.

“No. I don’t,” Cas agrees, and Dean can _hear_ the smirk in his voice. 

“Bet you thought I was smooth when you first met me,” he argues petulantly.

“Mmm,” Cas agrees again. “I was also high on narcotics.”

“Asshole.” Dean lifts his face to glare at the, yep, _smirking_ man.

“But you love me.” Cas says teasingly, though his eyes go soft and his voice a little shy as he says it.

“God,” Dean says, pressing his forehead against Cas’, “I really fucking do.”

Cas kisses him slower this time—less fierce, less frantic, but with no less feeling. After taking a moment to deposit his glasses safely on the back of the vanity, his hands slide off Dean’s shoulders and trail down his back, until they’re suddenly sliding under his shirt and back up again, moving over the scarred planes of his back with the same surety and lack of hesitation he’d shown back in November. Dean shudders at the contact as lust surges inside of him. He raises his arms readily as Cas pushes his black t-shirt up, up, and over his head, dropping it next to them on the bathroom rug. 

Neither of them mention the faint smells of smoke and whiskey emanating from the crumpled shirt.

Returning the favor, Dean grasps the hem of Cas’ olive tee, tugging it upward until Cas’ shirt is able to join his on the floor. He drinks in the man in front of him—dark hair in disarray, electric blue eyes taking Dean in just as hungrily, and kiss-swollen lips surrounded by unshaved stubble that Dean never did stop missing the feel of, all atop long lean lines that are slowly becoming more defined again as Cas regains his previous strength. Dean watches the muscles in Cas’ arm flex and stretch under a soft dusting of dark hair as he reaches for Dean’s hand and tugs him toward the running shower. His eyes trail down firm pecks and dusky nipples and past the pink scar that lines Cas’ ribs, to a lightly defined, if slightly softened, stomach and a happy trail of soft hair that teases Dean from the waistband of Cas’ soft, gray sweatpants. 

It’s when Cas’ fingers dip beneath that waistband that Dean stops him again, much to the chagrin of Little Dean, who’s been waiting for this moment his entire goddamn life, thank-you-very-much.

“Are you sure?” He asks gently. “We should probably take things slow.”

“Oh, believe me,” Cas says, giving him a look that somehow manages to be both the most affectionate and the most goddamn _hungry_ look anyone’s given Dean, ever, “_Slow_ is the plan.”

Dean swallows and Cas’ face suddenly softens, the hunger erased from his expression, but the affection, the _love_ as clear as ever. 

“Unless you aren’t ready. It’s okay, Dean. We can wait. Neither of us is going anywhere.”

Staring at Cas and seeing nothing but open honesty in the other man’s eyes, Dean feels a sudden lump in the back of his throat. Cas believes it. He finally believes that Dean isn’t going to leave him, isn’t going to hurt him. And Dean hears the promise in Cas’ words too, “_neither of us is going anywhere.” _Cas isn’t going to run away. He’s not going to push Dean away. They’re in this together. Them and Claire.

Now it’s Dean’s turn to cup Cas’ face; Dean’s turn to kiss Cas slow, and long, and deep until they’re both dizzy and breathless.

“I like your plan,” he whispers against Cas’ lips. The other man grins and finally shucks his pajama pants, pulling another groan out of Dean as he sees that Cas has once again foregone underwear beneath his soft sweats. 

_Fuck. _This man’s disdain for traditional undergarments is going to be the death of Dean.

“Problem?” Cas asks coyly, smirking at Dean and raising his eyebrows in mock inquiry.

“I don’t know what kind of grudge you’ve got against boxers, but fuck am I grateful,” he answers as he eyes Cas’ flushed cock where it bobs against a thatch of coarse, dark hair between the man’s thick thighs. Thighs that Dean expects will become even thicker and more defined when Cas is able to start running again. Not that Dean cares one bit how muscular any part of Cas is. Trim and fit, thick and muscled, or soft and round, Dean’s pretty sure the man in front of him would still be without a doubt the most gorgeous creature he’s ever seen.

_Goddamn sap, _his inner monologue teases.

_Yup, _Dean agrees happily, as he steps out of his underwear and into the shower, Cas holding the curtain open in silent invitation. The curtain has barely closed when Cas has him backed up against the shower wall, claiming his mouth in a wet slide of lips and tongue. The jarring sensation of the cold shower tiles against his backside has Dean pressing forward into Cas’ heat, bringing their rapidly filling cocks together for the first time. Twin groans echo off the tiled walls as Cas’ arms wind around Dean’s neck and they lose themselves in the kiss as the shower steam rises around them. Cas kisses him like he’s trying to make up for every day he’s missed out on kissing Dean since their fight in January. Hell, maybe even since that day they met in September. 

Dean could do this all day, but eventually he acts like the mature adult he is not and pulls back long enough to say, “We should probably get washed up. Hot water’s not gonna last forever.” Cas scowls (adorably), but his expression melts into a grin when Dean catches his pouty lower lip in a quick kiss. He reaches beyond the shower curtain, grabbing two washcloths off the top of the tower of towels, before turning to Dean apologetically.

“I’m afraid the only soap I have other than hand soap is Claire’s baby wash. It’s made without all of the chemicals in regular body washes and it’s cheaper than the adult versions. Plus, I like the scent.” He pumps liberal amounts of the clear liquid soap onto each washcloth before handing one to Dean.

Inhaling the familiar orange-vanilla scent, Dean smiles. “It’s fine, Cas. Smells a hell of a lot better than whatever cheap, dollar store shit I’ve got at home.” He steps back to give Cas space to wash himself. As much as Dean’s aching to explore every inch of Cas’ body with his hands (and lips, and tongue…), he knows that Cas is still tender in certain areas and inadvertently hurting Cas by pressing too hard in the wrong spot would definitely not do anything to rid Dean of his apparent reputation for sexual awkwardness. Scrubbing away the soot and equally unpleasant smells of stale smoke and cheap whiskey, Dean turns around to face the wall while he quickly (but thoroughly) cleans his delicates. He’s not sure why, but even though he had his cock pressed against Cas’ just minutes ago, scrubbing down his junk with the other man watching feels a little too intimate. 

Remembering the feel of their cocks together has Little Dean perking up again, which is only further encouraged when Dean suddenly feels strong hands kneading the knots in his tense shoulders. “Fuck, Cas. Oh, yeah, I’m definitely never letting you get away again. You’re mine.” Cas’ only response is a deep chuckle before Dean hears the click of a cap and then Cas hands are in his hair, a cooling tingling sensation spreading across his scalp with Cas’s fingers as the smell of peppermint permeates the bathroom.

“Mmm…” Dean groans, “Fuck, you’re perfect. Marry me.” His insides freeze momentarily. He’s jokingly proposed at least half a dozen time to just about every friend he has, but he’s always been careful not to make that joke with Cas. 

_Gee, wonder why that is? _

Ignoring his brain’s internal (and fucking eternal) mocking, he spends half a second panicking before relaxing as he hears Cas chuckle again. “Now, is that proposal more or less serious than the time I heard you ask Charlie to marry you because she saved you the last cupcake from her GSA meeting, the three separate times I’ve heard you propose to Gabriel for his pie-baking skills, or the time you proposed to the actual pie itself?” Cas uses the handheld sprayer to rinse peppermint suds from Dean’s hair as he waits for his answer.

“More serious than Gabe and Charlie,” Dean says, turning around and reaching for the bottle of peppermint scented 2-in-1 shampoo and conditioner as Cas hangs the showerhead back on its mount, “but Cas, don’t make me choose between you and pie.” 

Cas’ answering grin falters as Dean’s fingers wind themselves into his hair and begin massaging. “Keep doing that and you can have us both.” The sight of Cas’ flushed cheeks and pouty pink lips fallen open into a soft “O” of pleasure as his eyes flutter closed is just too much for Dean and he tightens his fingers in Cas’ hair, using it to tug the man’s face toward his own.

“See?” Dean whispers against those lips, “perfect.” He kisses Cas slow and deep. They continue trading increasingly heated kisses under the spray until Cas’ hair is free of shampoo, then their mouths and hands begin to wander. Cas kisses a trail down Dean’s jaw and neck, while a hand wanders to Dean’s chest, thumbing across a nipple and eliciting a moan. 

The thumb now tracing circles around the pebbled nub and the tongue trailing across the sensitive spot on Dean’s neck that always makes him shiver effectively distract from Cas’ other hand as it slides casually down Dean’s left flank with the running water. At least, Dean’s distracted until that same hand bypasses his now fully erect cock and cups confident fingers around his aching balls instead. He groans loudly and buries his face in the crook of Cas’ neck as the man squeezes gently, gripping Cas’ ass cheeks in both hands and squeezing in turn.

Cas hums appreciatively. “Feel good?” he asks coyly as he kisses the shell of Dean’s ear. Dean shivers again. “So good, Cas,” he answers weakly. “Want more, sweetheart.” The endearment has the same effect Dean remembers from their last time together and the hand that had been tweaking Dean’s nipple squeezes his hip instead, before wrapping around Dean’s straining cock between them. Feeling Cas’ hand on him properly for the first time has Dean whimpering and biting down on the junction between Cas’ neck and shoulder. Massaging Dean’s balls with his right hand, Cas begins to work Dean’s cock with his left, sliding up to the base and adding a twist on the way back down that would be fucking heavenly with just a little more slide than what the water gives. Cas must agree, because he swipes a thumb over the head of Dean’s dick, gathering up a thick bead of precome, which unfortunately is washed away almost immediately by the cascading water.

Dragging his head up reluctantly from Cas’ shoulder, Dean glances around the steamy shower. His eyes alight first on the peppermint shampoo—probably not a good idea. There are some places you just don’t want those kinds of tingles. He sees Claire’s baby wash next (abso-fucking-lutely not), before spotting a bright green bottle of fruity-looking conditioner on the bathtub ledge. He raises an eyebrow at Cas, who shrugs, “Gabe left it here.”

Perfect. Dean snatches up the bottle and squirts a generous amount onto Cas’ hand where it’s still halfway wrapped around his cock. He hisses at the cold sensation of the conditioner against his heated skin, but it turns quickly into a pleased hum as Cas resumes stroking, capturing Dean’s lips in yet another kiss. It’s not long before their kisses have devolved into Dean panting helplessly against Cas’ mouth, his hips rocking forward involuntarily to meet Cas’ hand. He’s not sure if it’s been minutes, or hours, or goddamn days when he feels that familiar tension building. Dean can’t decide if he’s ready for that dam to break and give him the release his body’s demanding or if he wants to stay like this forever, pressed against the slick, wet planes of Cas’ body. The man in question makes the decision for him, however, a few minutes later.

“That’s right, Dean. Fuck my fist with that thick cock of yours. Show me what you’ve got,” Cas murmurs encouragingly as his right hand slides from Dean’s balls across his hip to grip his ass, egging him on and _Christ_, Cas dirty talks too? Dean’s either gonna come or cry, he’s not sure which.

“Fuck, Cas.” He manages to force the words out, though they sound slightly strangled. 

“Mmm, that’s the idea,” Cas agrees. “Can’t wait till you’re fucking me for real, Dean. Want you inside me so _fucking_ bad, sweetheart.” Aaaaand, that’s all she wrote. He’s not sure if it’s Cas’ filthy fucking words, his calling Dean “sweetheart” in return, or the desperate way his voice breaks a little when he talks about how badly he wants Dean inside him, but it’s got Dean coming with a shout, clutching at Cas with one hand, while he braces himself against the wall with the other, just enough coherent thought left to remember not to put all of his weight on the injured man.

Dean’s still leaning against the shower wall, trying to catch his breath and waiting for his racing heartbeat to return to normal, when Cas reaches over to turn the water off. “The water’s starting to get cold,” he says in answer to Dean’s quizzical look. 

Nodding, Dean pushes himself off the shower tiles. “That’s okay. We should probably get you off your feet anyway,” he says, still a little breathless. Stumbling out of the bathtub on wobbly legs, he adds, “And fuck, I’m not sure I could stay upright much longer either.” 

“Was it really that good?” Cas asks skeptically as he passes a towel to Dean before toweling off quickly himself and pulling on the thick, navy blue bathrobe hanging on the back of the bathroom door. It’s at this point that he finally looks up to notice Dean staring at him, open-mouthed, towel dangling limply from one hand.

“What?”

Shaking his head, Dean dries himself quickly before grabbing the final clean towel off the back of the toilet and wrapping it around his waist. Cas is still staring at him, a little distracted if the way his eyes linger on the towel is any indication, when Dean steps into his space.

“Sweetheart,” he says, cupping Cas’ face in his hands and laying a gentle kiss on his lips, “the last time we were together was some of the best sex of my life… and I didn’t even come.” He presses their foreheads together. “This? Yeah, it was ‘good.’”

“In fact,” Dean draws back and pulls Cas’ robe closed, tying the belt snugly at his waist as he talks, “as soon as we get back to your room, I’m gonna show you exactly how _good_ it was.” 

“Mmm, we should probably talk some more, you know.” Cas says regretfully.

Dean tugs the other man to him by the soft belt of his bathrobe, trailing kisses across his jaw and down his neck.

“Mmhmm,” he murmurs noncommittally between kisses, “I suppose we could do that now. If that’s what you want…”

“Later,” Cas gasps as Dean drags his teeth across a particularly sensitive spot. “We can talk later.” He pauses. “You are staying, right?”

The afternoon? The night? Forever? Dean’s not sure which one Cas means, but either way, the answer’s the same.

“Yeah, Cas. I’m stayin’.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Brief discussion of panic attacks, though no on-screen panic attacks occur, aaaaand NSFW content!
> 
> So there you have it! What did you think? If you're concerned that they missed something in their big feelings talk, fear not! We sill have a whole other chapter of feelings, fluff, and smut coming soon! You may have noticed that I added a final chapter count for this story! All we have left after this is one chapter (23) and an epilogue! It's been such a wild ride, I can't believe it's almost over! I'll be posting the next chapter on Tusday and the final chapter Next Thursday.
> 
> Next week, tune in for more talking, more feelings, more sexing!


	23. Chapter 23

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> More of everything being bee-autiful and absolutely nothing hurting. ❤

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for all of your amazing comments everyone! Last week was a very difficult week, but reading all of your kind words truly helped.
> 
> I know that we seemed to have reached a nice ending point for their reunion scene in the previous chapter, but, well, the boys decided they weren't quite done with the sex or the feelings, so we'll be picking up right where we left off. I hope you don't mind. 😉
> 
> I hope you enjoy the last chapter of the main story!

** _Friday, April 5, 2019 (Still)_ **

Castiel stumbles down the hall, led by Dean’s hand on the knotted terrycloth belt of his bathrobe and Dean’s lips drawing away from his teasingly as the man walks backward toward the bedroom. Even after their shower activities, there’s a desperate edge to their kisses that speaks to how raw their earlier conversation (and the two months preceding it) has left them both. Cas isn’t sorry for that edge though. It’s oddly grounding. This all feels so surreal, getting to have Dean like this, finally realizing all of his romantic, domestic, and yes, sexual fantasies. 

_Well, maybe not _all_ of them_, he reflects as they reach the bedroom. He’d meant it when he told Dean he wants to feel the firefighter inside of him, though he blushes now at the memory of exactly _how_ he’d told Dean that. Castiel isn’t sure what’s come over him. Balthazar had talked dirty to him plenty during the brief time they were together, but Castiel had felt far too shy and unsure of himself back then to respond in kind. And aside from Bart barking commands and corrections at him (sex with Bart had always felt more like a well-rehearsed routine than a spontaneous expression of love), they’d rarely talked at all in the bedroom. Dean though, Dean makes him_ want _things he’d never thought he could want, never thought he could _have._ The list of things he wants to try and do with (and to) his gorgeous, kind, perfect firefighter is steadily growing. 

For now, though, the one regret he has about their sexual activities thus far is that he wasn’t able to drop to his knees in the shower and take Dean into his mouth, just to have the man he loves inside him in some capacity. But as much as he wants Dean to fuck him, aches for it even, he doesn’t think either of them are quite ready for that, emotionally or physically. Castiel grimaces as he feels a frustration with his still-healing body that has become far less common this far into his recovery. 

“What is it, sweetheart?” Dean asks as he gently presses Castiel down into the memory foam. “What’s goin’ on in that head of yours?”

“Just thinking about how much I want you fuck me, but also about how that’s probably not the best idea right now,” Castiel answers honestly, though he can feel the blush heating his cheeks. He and Dean have had so many miscommunications over the past seven months. He’s determined that he’s going to be more open and honest with Dean from here on out and that includes their sex life. A collection of very excitable butterflies erupts in Castiel’s stomach at the sudden realization that he and Dean have a sex life. Together.

The feral grin Dean gives him in response as he slowly unties the knot at Castiel’s waist sends a shiver down his spine. “I think I might have a solution for that.”

Lying on his side next to Castiel, Dean leans over top of him as he peels back each side of the plush bathrobe, tracing his hand down Castiel’s left side as he plunges his tongue into Castiel’s mouth. Moaning and writhing beneath Dean as the firefighter takes him in hand, he can’t help but think about how reminiscent this position is of their first time. Unlike that time, however, Dean doesn’t inch his kisses downward toward Castiel’s cock. Instead, he continues to ravage Castiel’s mouth while the fingers wrapped around his cock loosen and slip down instead to brush over his hole.

Dean lets out a husky chuckle as Castiel unconsciously spreads his legs wider in invitation. “I may not be able to give you what you really want right now, but I can still fill you up. Still be inside you.” He pauses. “Well, if you have any lube, that is.”

“Drawer,” is the only response Castiel can manage, flinging an arm in the direction of his night stand.

Dean chuckles again as he retrieves the half-empty bottle of Astroglide. Raising an eyebrow, he teases, “I guess the self-love dry spell has ended, huh?” 

Reaching for the pillow on the far side of the bed, the one from this side still on the floor where it had been unceremoniously discarded during their earlier love confessions, Castiel smacks a grinning Dean with it before propping it underneath his head and shoulders.

“Which means I am more than capable of taking matters into my own hands and relegating you to the role of observer if you don’t _fucking get on with it_,” Castiel snarks back.

“Sassy.” Dean grins, crawling back onto the bed to hover over top of Castiel again. Leaning down, his lips brush Castiel’s ear and his voice drops a register as he murmurs, “And we are _so_ doing _that_ sometime, by the way.”

Fighting another shiver, Castiel attempts to cover it with more sass, reaching up to drag Dean’s lips to his, a hand cupped around the back of the firefighter’s neck. After a savage kiss, he lets Dean pull back enough to say, “Dean, I would like very much to be doing something _this _time, if you don’t mind.”

“Sassy _and _bossy,” Dean chides playfully, nipping at Castiel’s lower lip as he _finally_ flips open the cap on the lubricant bottle. “I like it.”

Moments later, a cool, slick hand wraps itself around Castiel’s slightly flagging cock, immediately bringing it back to attention. 

“I’ll keep that in mind,” Castiel gasps out as Dean begins to stroke his cock in long, leisurely pulls, enough to drive him crazy, but not nearly enough to get him any closer to release.

Expression shifting from playful to affectionate, Dean adds, “I’ve missed this.”

Raising an eyebrow, Castiel looks down between them at Dean’s hand grasping his cock.

“This?”

Playful smirk returning, Dean leans in for a gentle kiss. “So much, sweetheart. But I meant _this._” He lets go of Castiel’s cock to gesture between them and Castiel would really regret asking if it weren’t for Dean’s next words, “You being your usual snarky self and giving me shit with that fancy English teacher vocabulary of yours.”

As much as he’s longed for Dean romantically, it’s the little, day-to-day moments of their friendship that he’s missed the most. Their jokes, their teasing, their banter. “I’ve missed you too, Dean. And what I really want is you. Just you, in any and every way I can have you.”

“Sap,” Dean whispers against his lips and the snarky retort he immediately starts to formulate is lost when a lubed finger begins teasing at his entrance. Dean traces the puckered opening in firm, but gentle circles with the pad of his finger, pulling something that sounds suspiciously like a whine out of Castiel. He can’t help the way his hips push down against the mattress, chasing Dean’s finger.

“Fuck,” Dean curses. “You really do want this, don’t you, Babe?” 

“What was your first clue?” Castiel answers, the shakiness in his voice undercutting his feeble attempt at sarcasm. He flings an arm over his face as Dean’s finger dips inside for the first time, feeling suddenly vulnerable, exposed, and overwhelmed—a raw nerve helpless against the elements. For once, Dean doesn’t laugh at his snark, seeing the false bravado for what it is.

Instead, he leans his body gently into Castiel’s, until they’re pressed together from shoulder to toe. Stopping along the way to grasp Castiel’s hand and take it with him, Dean repositions so that he has an arm above Castiel’s head, revealing Castiel’s flushed face, which he covers in kisses.

Pressing Castiel’s hand into the mattress above his head and weaving their fingers together, Dean slides his clever finger into the tight heat of Castiel’s body again and again, pressing in a little deeper every few thrusts as Castiel writhes beneath him. Left hand fisted in the sheets, Castiel tugs at his right hand where it’s still clasped with Dean’s above his head. Dean tightens his fingers and Castiel feels a thrill rush through him at the resistance, craning his neck upward to capture Dean’s mouth in a heated kiss and adding something else to his “_List of Things to Try With Dean_.”

“God, you’re so fucking beautiful like this, Cas,” Dean whispers and Castiel squeezes his fingers. Dean tightens his grip in response, pressing down on Castiel’s hand again for leverage has he subtly shifts his position on the bed, allowing him to angle the hand fingering Castiel just slightly and—

“Oh, _fuck,_” Castiel breathes a few thrusts later when Dean’s finger finds his prostate. “Shit, shit, _fuck_.”

“Yeah, Cas,” Dean says as he slides a second finger in with the first, pulling back a little this time to give Castiel time to adjust to the new girth. “Let me hear you, sweetheart. Tell me what you want.”

“Fuck, Dean. I want _more._ I want you inside of me. I want to feel you as you slide that big cock into me instead of a finger. I want you to feel you make love to me slow and deep and I want to feel you fucking me hard and fast. I want, fuck, I want everything with you.” Castiel wants to feel embarrassed abut everything he just admitted, but he can’t. He wants it. He wants that with Dean so fucking bad he could cry with it.

“Oh fuck, Sweetheart. I want that too. So much. I can’t wait to be inside you and I can’t wait until you’re able to return the favor. Wanna feel you too, Cas. If, uh, that’s something you’d want,” Dean stammers on the last sentence, suddenly looking nervous, and Castiel’s left hand flies up from where it was twisted in the sheets, fingers instead twisting in the short strands of Dean’s hair as he pulls the man in for another kiss.

“Oh, I want. I very much fucking want,” Castiel pants, desire tearing through him as Dean’s two fingers now graze his prostate. Castiel doesn’t say it, though it probably wouldn’t come as a surprise to Dean at this point that Bart wasn’t a fan of bottoming. The thought of topping in general is heady enough for Castiel right now, but the thoughts of thrusting in and out of _Dean_, of watching _Dean’s_ face contort in pleasure below him, has Castiel weak and dizzy with want, with _need_. He remembers Dean’s face in the shower, the way his freckles stood out against the ruddy skin of his face and chest, flushed with the heat of the shower and his desire for Castiel. He recalls the way Dean’s face looked when he came, head braced against his forearm, struggling to steady himself as he fell apart beneath Castiel’s hands. 

He’s rocking down to meet Dean’s fingers now, which are still hitting Castiel’s prostate every few thrusts. Panting, flushed, and sweating, Castiel knows he must look a desperate mess, but when he risks a glance at Dean’s face, the man is enraptured. He’s looking at Castiel’s wrecked body like it’s the most beautiful thing he’s ever seen and Castiel is certain he’s _never_ been the recipient of such a look before. He’s never before had a partner _this_ focused on just _his_ body, bringing _him_ pleasure with such single-minded focus. The realization sends another tremor of want through Castiel and a large spurt of precome trickles down the side of his desperate, neglected cock. He might be falling apart under Dean’s hands now, but Castiel feels powerful as that familiar tension builds behind his pelvis. 

Dean makes a move to sit up, but Castiel redoubles his grip on Dean’s hand, needing him close, needing to feel as much of Dean pressed against his heated body as possible. 

“Stay,” he murmurs against Dean’s lips as he brings his own hand up to stroke himself, letting out an involuntary groan as his dick finally gets some much-needed friction. Dean pulls his fingers out of Castiel, drawing a whimper from him, just long enough to find the lube and squirt some onto Castiel’s hand. He makes up for his absence by increasing his pace when he resumes finger-fucking Castiel into oblivion, making each thrust count as Castiel’s hand moves over his leaking cock.

Dean watches Castiel pleasure himself, eyes glued to Castiel’s cock as he unconsciously licks his lips. Castiel watches Dean, the dark glint in his lust-filled eyes, the tiny dents left where he’d bitten his own lip as he watched Castiel reach for his cock, the red flush on his face and chest from exertion and desire, desire for Castiel. They’re both panting and shaking by the time Castiel comes, the hand not on his cock grappling for purchase over Dean’s muscled back, having finally released the firefighter’s hand in a desperate attempt to pull him still closer. 

They both lay there for several minutes after, a mess of tangled limbs and cooling sweat as they wait for pulse rates to slow and breathing to even out. Eventually, after they each make a brief trek to the bathroom (separately this time), rescuing Cas’ glasses from the vanity and the discarded pillow and Dean’s cell phone from the floor, they crawl back into Castiel’s bed and he gets to do exactly what he’d longed to do the night before, pulling Dean into his arms. 

* * *

Waking up in Cas’ bed is much more pleasant this time around, especially because Cas is still in it. He’s rolled away from Dean while they slept, flopping onto his back, but his left arm is still trapped underneath Dean where Cas had been wrapped around him as they drifted off. Dean takes the opportunity to roll onto his side and cuddle up to Cas instead, wrapping an arm around Cas’ waist and resting his head on the other man’s still-bare chest. 

Humming contentedly in response, Cas shifts toward Dean and brings his free arm over to wrap him up once again.

“Mornin’, Sunshine,” Dean whispers into Cas’ chest hair, earning a responding chuckle that has him lifting his head.

“Those were the first words you ever said to me,” Cas explains, sliding his hand across the backs of Dean’s shoulders to tangle in his hair before finally coming to rest against his stubble-lined cheek. “And it wasn’t morning then, either.”

“I can’t believe you remember that,” Dean says as he presses a grateful kiss to Cas’ chin. Cas looks soft and sleepy in the honeyed-glow of afternoon sunlight and it makes what Dean has to say next that much harder.

“We should probably get up.”

Cas pouts. “That’s a terrible idea.”

“As terrible as being a naked beekeeper in Montana?”

Narrowing his eyes, Cas pokes Dean sharply in the side, pulling a yelp and a giggle from Dean as he replies dryly, “I see you’ve been talking to my brother.”

“A little,” Dean confirms. “He was actually pretty helpful, in a Gabe sort of way.”

“Was he angry with you? I tried to explain that it wasn’t your fault, but well…”

“Big brother’s prerogative,” Dean finishes for him with a wink. “It’s okay, Cas. I get it. I would have been just as pissed if someone had walked out on Sammy like that. Speaking of which, I need to call the little moose before he gets it in his head to do something stupid, like come over here.” Rolling away from Cas with no little difficulty, he sits up and reaches for his phone where it sits on the nightstand by his side of the bed. 

“Dean,” Cas frowns in that adorable way he has that makes him look half like he could smite the legions of hell without breaking a sweat and half like a little kid who’s lost his favorite teddy, “you had good reasons for walking away that night.” 

“And _you_ had good reasons for pushing me away that night,” Dean interrupts, “which we will definitely be talking about in more depth.” He punctuates that last statement by leaning forward and pulling Cas into a kiss, before standing up and heading around Cas’ side of bed to the dresser. Feeling like this conversation needs underwear, he pulls two pairs of boxers out of Cas’ drawer, tossing one set to Cas before pulling on a pair himself. 

Huffing a sigh, Cas pulls on the boxers and picks up his glasses from the nightstand as he answers, “Be that as it may, I still _did_ push you away. I gave you every indication that I’d catch you if you leaped and then when you finally did, I let you fall.” Cas takes a breath, but holds Dean’s eyes. “I know I hurt you, terribly. And I am so sorry for that.” He holds up a hand when Dean opens his mouth to respond. “I know you’ve forgiven me, or at least, that you’re in the process of forgiving me, but if we’re going to do this Dean, I need to know that you won’t let me do that to you. I’m going to do everything in my power not to let my past control our future, but I could still mess up. I could fail and if I do, I need to know that you’re strong enough to walk away again. I know you don’t like to leave people behind, but I won’t have you staying with me if it’s hurting you. For years, I went back to someone who hurt me again and again and I just,” Cas cuts off with a choked half-sob, “I can’t be responsible for doing that to someone I love. So just, promise me, Dean.”

Taking Cas’ hands in his, Dean pulls him to his feet and places a hand on each side of Cas’ face, looking him in the eye as he answers seriously, “I promise.” Cas brings his hands up to grip Dean’s forearms, holding him in place and Dean drops a comforting kiss on Cas’ lips before pressing their foreheads together and continuing, “We’re gonna do this right this time, Cas, and that means setting up ground rules so that we both know how far we can push the other before we reach a breaking point.” He pauses, then adds, “And I need to know what topics, or words, to be careful with because the _last _thing I ever wanna do is trigger another panic attack for you.”

Cas opens his mouth again, argument clearly written on his face, so Dean kisses it away. “Look, I’m not tryin’ to take sole responsibility for our big fireworks display that night, but I’m not gonna let you hog all the credit either. Intentional or not, we both crossed some lines that night and we hurt _one another._ We both broke it, we both fix it. Because we’re in this _together._” 

Drawing back, he looks Cas in the eye, trying not to sound nervous as he asks, “Right?”

Dropping his hands to Dean’s waist, Cas gives his hips a reassuring squeeze as he answers, “Yes, Dean. Together.”

“Good,” Dean steps back and hands Cas his robe. Snagging a t-shirt from Cas’ dresser and smirking to himself, he pretends to ignore the way Cas is staring like he’s torn between wanting to see Dean dressed in his clothes and wanting to take them right back off him again.

Cas sounds a little strangled (Dean’s smirk widens), having to clear his throat and start again when he comments cautiously, “Talking about setting ground rules and knowing my triggers… it sounds like you’ve really put a lot of thought into this. In fact, it all sounds incredibly familiar…”

“What? You think you’re the only one who can go to therapy? I _am_ how you met Missouri, remember?” Dean winks, trying to buoy the conversation, but Cas’ frown is like a lead weight.

“Dean, did you go back to therapy because of me?”

“No,” Dean says honestly, turning back to Cas and reaching for his hand. “Not because of you, Cas. I went back to therapy partially because I wanted to sort out my own head and be the best version of myself I can be, partially because I wanted to make sure I had the tools I needed to build a solid relationship with the person I love in case he ever decided to give my sorry ass a chance,” Cas rolls his eyes at that one and Dean considers it a win, “and mostly because Missouri is the scariest woman I’ve ever met.”

Cas snorts and Dean grins.

“Her and that voodoo mind-reading thing she does. Don’t tell Ellen, though,” he warns with a raised finger. “She might take it as a challenge.”

Cas grins and Dean clears his throat, trying to sound nonchalant as he adds, “I was thinkin’ maybe we could even do a couple sessions with Missouri together. Make sure we’re headed in the right direction.”

Smile faltering, Cas sounds brittle when he answers, “Starting our relationship with couples’ counseling? That can’t possibly be a good omen, can it?”

“I think,” Dean pauses and reflects back on what Missouri said to him that day they stumbled across one another in the pancake aisle, “I think we’ve both faced a lot of shit in our lives, Cas. Shit that we still carry around with us. Try to cram both our shit into one room and it’ll pile up pretty quick. I think it makes sense to have someone help us clear it all out, you know? Or to at least help us stow our shit so we’re not drowning in it.”

Cas’ lips tick up the first time Dean says “shit” and by the end of Dean’s very apt and _poignant _metaphor, fuck-you-very-much, he’s shaking his head and grinning ear-to-ear.

“So, is this the same shit I put in a box, or is this different shit? I do have a lot of shit, so I just want to be clear.”

Dean rolls his eyes. “Yeah, you’re sure as hell full of shit, I know that much. There’s a reason I’m not the English teacher, man.” 

“Thank you, Dean,” Cas says seriously. “Your words of wisdom will serve me well. Also, thank you, truly, for not including any metaphors about excrement in your coffee-cup messages.”

“Yeah, fuck you, asshole,” Dean says affectionately. “Are we good now? Can I call the sasquatch before he comes in here breakin’ down doors and scarring us all for life?”

“Call your brother, Dean.”

“Thanks. And while I do that, why don’t you call and order some grub. We’ve missed breakfast and lunch and I don’t know about you, but I’m so hungry I could even eat _Sam’s_ cooking right about now.”

Cas agrees and heads for the kitchen to grab the take-out menu for their favorite Chinese place while Dean calls Sam, who answers on the first ring.

“Dean? How are you? Are you okay?” 

Dean feels just a tiny bit guilty for making his brother wait so long as he answers, “Woah, slow down, Sammy. And yeah, man. It was a rough night, but I’m okay. Sorry I worried you.” 

“Fuck, Dean. I’m just glad you’re okay. Are you sure you’re alright? We were all pretty scared, man. You just… disappeared.”

“I know. I woulda called, I swear, but I couldn’t. I was pretty out of it man, even before I started drinkin’.” He hesitates before adding, “I’m gonna call Missouri this afternoon. See if I can get an extra appointment in next week.”

“That’s good, Dean,” Sam answers softly, “I’m proud of you, man.”

“Yeah, well, sorry I scared you.” 

They sit in silence for a long moment before Sam asks, “So, are you back home or do you need a ride?”

“Nah, I, uh, I’m still at Cas’. Think I’m gonna stay here for a bit.”

“Ooooh?” Sam asks, drawing out the single syllable far more than he probably would have dared if Dean had been in striking distance. “Does that mean you guys have moved beyond passing notes now?”

Dean grins, thinking of the coffee cup Cas had handed him that morning, “Actually, no. Cas passed me a note just this morning, smartass.”

“Aww,” Sam gushes and Dean’s suddenly glad his brother’s not around to see his blush. “Did he ask you to check ‘yes’ or ‘no?’” 

“No, Samantha. He did not.” 

“Well,” Sam teases, “I guess there’s always the proposal.”

Sam’s still laughing at Dean’s spluttering when Dean hangs up the phone.

* * *

** _Sunday, April 21, 2019_ ** ** _ (Three Weeks Later)_ **

“I’ll get the wiggle worm, if you grab the diaper bag and the wine. Still can’t fucking believe you made me bring wine, man.”

Castiel rolls his eyes as he opens the passenger door of the Impala. He’d thought about trying to convince Dean to bring the Pilot since it would be better on the Singer-Harvelle’s long gravel drive, but the firefighter was already scandalized enough by his beverage choice.

“Not everyone here likes beer as much as you and Bobby. Jessica, Charlie, and Sam will all appreciate the wine,” he says, cradling the bottle of pinot grigio in one arm as he reaches into the backseat for Claire’s diaper bag. 

“Wine. Jesus, might as well have brought a damn salad. Gabe’s still bringing the pies, right?”

“So, wine is the ‘rabbit food’ equivalent of the alcohol kingdom?” Castiel asks in amusement. 

“Exactly,” Dean says, bouncing Claire, who looks adorable in her light-yellow Easter dress, on his hip with one arm and shooting Castiel a one-handed finger-gun salute with his free hand. He opens his mouth to say something else, almost certainly asking about the pies again, but Castiel cuts him off.

“And yes, Gabe is still bringing the pies. In fact, I think he was riding with Sam and Jess, so he’s probably already inside.”

“Good. And you told him—”

“To bring the rhubarb crumble you liked, yes. He’s bringing that, coconut crème, and something that contains an obscene amount of chocolate.” He can’t help but smile at the way Dean’s face lights up. 

“Awesome.”

As Dean reaches for the doorknob, Castiel places the hand not holding a bottle of wine on his arm. “I know I’ve said it before, but thank you again for sharing your friends and family with me.”

Dean raises an eyebrow at him. “One, they’re not just my family, Cas, they’re yours and Claire’s too. They love you, man, and not just ‘cause I love you.” 

Cas’ heart flutters the same way it always does when Dean says he loves him.

“And two, we’ve got pretty great friends, but they don’t have to be your only friends, you know.”

And Cas does know. One of the main ways Bart had controlled him was to control his peer group. His ex had systematically driven away everyone Castiel was close to until his entire social circle consisted only of Bart and _his _friends. As a way to help Castiel both heal from the social anxiety he’d experienced thanks to Bart’s gaslighting and maintain the independence he’s so fiercely protected since their relationship ended, Missouri has suggested Castiel work on building friendships and a support network that extend beyond Dean and their shared friends and family.

“I know that, Dean,” Castiel assures, “I’m getting coffee with Meg next week, remember?”

In an effort to heed Missouri’s advice, Castiel has decided to befriend Meg, much to Dean’s chagrin. When the two of them had picked Claire up from Little Angels together earlier in the week, Meg had been downright gleeful about it. She’d congratulated Dean on “bagging himself a unicorn,” whatever that meant, then followed it up with a rather lewd euphemism about horn size that Castiel didn’t need any context to understand. When she’d insisted she wanted to hear all the “dirty details” of their reconciliation, Castiel had shocked both himself and Dean by telling her if she met him for coffee he’d be happy to tell her all about it.

“I remember, but I’m not actually talking about Meg, and again, why _Meg? _She’s evil,_” _Dean whines, the exact same way he had the day Castiel made his invitation.

He crosses his arms, which is awkward with the wine bottle neck clutched in one hand, but still gets his point across, “I like Meg.”

Dean huffs, “Fine. She _likes_ you too, you know. You better tell that succu-bitch to keep her damn hands to herself.” Ah, Castiel had thought Meg let her hand linger a little longer on necessary on his arm, but he’s fairly certain it was only to rile Dean up. Apparently, it worked.

Regardless, if the looks Castiel has seen Meg giving Anna when she thinks no one’s watching these past few months are anything to go by, Dean needn’t worry. If Castiel has his way, he won’t be the only one participating in story time during their coffee date. He wonders if the “teacher look” Dean accuses him of having will work on another teacher.

Castiel can’t help the way his lips twitch at the firefighter’s absolutely adorable pouty jealousy when he points at himself and says, “Gayer than Christmas, remember? Also, hopelessly in love with _you.” _ The way Dean lights up at his last sentence has Castiel’s heart rolling over in his chest like a golden retriever.

“I am pretty irresistible,” his firefighter counters with an eyebrow waggle that earns a fond eyeroll.

“If you weren’t talking about Meg just now, who or what _were _you talking about?”

“Oh, uh,” Dean rubs the back of his neck in that nervous gesture Castiel loves so much, “Balthazar.”

“Balthazar?”

“Yeah. I found him.”

“You found him,” Castiel repeats, feeling entirely uncertain where Dean is going with this.

“Yep. I know you’re a social media hermit,” Dean begins to explain, which is only mostly true. Castiel works with high schoolers, nearly all of whom have quite thriving social media presences. The last thing he needs is to be dodging follows and friend requests from his teenage students, so he finds it much easier to just avoid the Facebook and Twitterverses altogether. “But I’m not and I found his Facebook. Turns out ‘Balthazar’ ain’t a very common name in any part of the world, go figure. Found his Instagram too and, man, you weren’t kidding about his ‘adventurous’ lifestyle. I can’t _unsee_ some of those pictures,” his firefighter shudders.

“Dean, did you social-media-stalk my ex?” Cas asks, unable to hide his amused smirk. 

“I, what? No! A little,” Dean finally concedes. “I got to thinkin’ about some things Gabe told me when you and me weren’t being ‘you and me’ and it made it sound like cuttin’ ties with you may not have been Balthazar’s idea at all. So, if you want to, and when you’re ready, you can message him from my account. You don’t have to,” Dean is quick to add, “but I wanted you to know the option is there.”

A rising tide of affection for the man in front of him washes over Castiel and he brings his free hand up to cup the back of the firefighter’s head as tugs him into a kiss. Normally, he might be embarrassed about making out with Dean on the Singer-Harvelle doorstep, but it can’t be helped. No other response will do. Castiel parts Dean’s willing lips with his tongue, doing his best to communicate the enormity of the love and devotion he feels as he kisses them both breathless. At least, he does until sticky toddler hands (why is she _always_ sticky) force their faces apart and Claire bellows, “Da-ee! Dee! In!” while reaching for the door.

Looking a little flushed, Dean chuckles. “I guess the boss has spoken. Sorry princess,” he says to Claire, “Daddy and Dee got a little distracted for a minute there. We’re goin’ in. Keep your bow on.”

Reaching up to her hair, Claire proudly pats the pale-yellow bow that matches her dress. Her curly hair has gotten just long enough to put the top into a pony tail holder. “Coo,” she says matter-of-factly, looking expectantly at Dean.

“Yes,” he agrees with a grin, “It’s very cute.” 

Castiel thinks his heart might explode from happiness. Is that a thing? Can that happen? He certainly knows that he loves the two people in front of him so much in this moment that it’s causing a very physical pain behind his sternum. 

They make their way into the familiar house, with Dean leading the way. As much as Castiel loves his adopted family, it’s going to take some time before he’s comfortable just walking in without knocking the way Dean does. To be honest, having grown up in a home with a high-level security system and then spending most of his adult life in Chicago, the fact that the Singer-Harvelles leave their door _unlocked_ for anyone to walk in is still a novelty he’s not quite comfortable with.

Hearing the boisterous cacophony that Castiel happily associates with Winchester-Singer-Harvelle+ holidays coming from the dining room, they head that direction. Their assembled family and friends are gathered around the large dining room table, an extra folding table tacked onto the end to extend its length and metal folding chairs squeezed randomly between the high-backed wooden ones to accommodate everyone. 

Sam, Jess, and Gabe (as usual, Kali has volunteered to work the Christian holiday, so her colleagues who celebrate can spend the day with their families) are crammed down at one end of the oak table, the pink shade of Sam’s face ensuring that Castiel’s brother is being his usual self, while Charlie and Gilda talk amiably with Jo and Victor (who, according to Dean, have apparently been dating since the fire house Christmas party). Between the two chatting groups on the far side of the table are Bobby and Ellen, Bobby seated in his wheelchair, with Ellen standing next to him. Castiel wonders vaguely if the woman ever manages to sit down for more than ten minutes at a time. Naturally, it’s Ellen who spots them first.

“Well, look what the cat dragged in,” she drawls with a raised eyebrow and suddenly the conversations stop cold, every eye in the room on them. Charlie’s practically bouncing in her seat and the soft look on Jessica’s face is only rivaled by Sam’s. They haven’t actually told any of their friends or family about the change in their relationship status, though Castiel’s certain most of them have guessed by now. It hasn’t been possible to hide just how _happy_ they’ve been these past few weeks and neither of them have really wanted to.

“What?” Dean asks with a look of mock surprise. “You’ve all met my boyfriend, Cas, haven’t you?”

Castiel can feel the heat suffusing his face as the table erupts in a chorus of cheers, cat calls, and it’s-about-times. It’s capped off by a heartfelt “idjits” (from Bobby, of course) and one very lewd gesture (“Joanna Beth!”). His boyfriend (and oh, he never tires of hearing Dean call him that), just laughs, leaning in to kiss Castiel’s cheek before settling himself in one of the two chairs that have been reserved for them. Castiel feels a lump in his throat as he watches Dean deposit Claire in the high chair that he definitely does not remember being here before. 

Seeing his gaze rest on the chair, Bobby nods to it and comments, “Figured you’d be eatin’ round here often enough now that we’d need one.”

Yes, his heart is definitely going to explode soon. There’s just no way one organ can contain any more happiness. He gazes affectionately at the grizzled fire chief, who shifts uncomfortably in his wheelchair.

“Alright, princess, save that look for yer boyfriend and sit yer ass down already. I ain’t gettin’ any younger and neither is that ham,” he says gruffly, gesturing at the delicious looking glazed ham taking center stage on the table between them. 

Chuckling, Castiel sits the wine on the table and takes his seat between Dean and Sam. While they eat and talk and laugh, he looks around, studying the faces of his assembled family in quiet appreciation. Dean catches him staring at one point and gives him the same soft smile that’s made Castiel melt since that very first day, when a firefighter with summer-green eyes smiled at him through the shattered remains of a windshield. He still can’t believe they’ve made it here. He’s still aware their relationship is going to take work and that all the love in the world won’t make the wounds they’ve both suffered disappear overnight, but he’s proud of what they’re building with one another now. 

It’s only been a couple of weeks at this point, but already he knows this is it for him. _Dean _is it for him. “Going slow,” had proven far more difficult than initially imagined and by middle of week two, Dean had his own toothbrush in Castiel’s bathroom. They had slipped easily back into their pre-Lisa routine of watching T.V. in Castiel’s bed and with their time together so limited now by both of their work schedules, neither of them could see the point in Dean leaving Castiel’s memory foam to go home and sleep alone, especially since he was generally already conveniently undressed.

They’d even managed to have their first official date last weekend. Dean had picked him and Claire up Sunday afternoon and Castiel had finally been able to go to their favorite ice cream place. After cleaning up their sticky hands and Claire’s sticky… _everything_, they’d spent an hour at the park next door. This time around, Castiel’s phone is filled with selfies of the _three_ of them. Sure, it wasn’t just a him-and-Dean date, but Castiel can’t complain about that, especially not when he remembers the way that date ended, after Claire was safely tucked into her crib. 

Hoping no one at the table notices his blush, Castiel recalls how it felt to have his boyfriend moving properly inside of him that first time. It had taken them some experimentation and repositioning to find a position that was comfortable for Castiel, but as they finally rocked together, with Dean whispering love and endearments into Castiel’s skin, he’d never felt more whole.

He knows that any one of their devoted family members would happily babysit Claire long enough for them to go out on a grown-ups-only date and they’ll do that too, eventually. Maybe this summer, once the school year has ended and Castiel isn’t so busy with work. But for now, Castiel thinks as he watches Dean bop Claire’s nose with a dinner roll, sitting on his sofa writing lesson plans while Dean and Claire watch the same three episodes of _Peppa Pig _over and over again sounds like the perfect date to him.

“Hey, Earth to Castiel. You with me, sweetheart?” Castiel looks over to see summer-green eyes staring at him above a lightly freckled nose, high cheekbones, and pouty, kissable lips. Dean Winchester is still the most gorgeous man he’s ever seen up close.

“I don’t deserve you,” Castiel says quietly, even as he can’t stop smiling, because deserving or not, he _has _Dean now and he has every intention of keeping him.

Dean sends him a smile full of love and faith and adoration, before leaning in for a chaste, but sweet kiss. 

“Yeah you do. We all deserve good things, Cas,” he answers, and the words Dean had first said to him at Claire’s birthday sound much more hopeful this time, especially when he hears what Dean follows them up with.

“And sometimes, we get’em.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Well, there we go! I hope it was everything you wanted it to be! And if it wasn't, you can hold out hope for the epilogue. 😂
> 
> What did you think of our new couple's first official date? Were you as happy as Cas with their family date? What would be your "perfect date?" 
> 
> Thank you all so very much for reading! ❤
> 
> Thursday: Omg, omg, omg, you guys! The EPILOGUE!!!! 😭😭😭


	24. Epilogue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> One and a half years later... I still suck at summaries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow. You guys. 
> 
> This is it.
> 
> This is the epilogue.
> 
> The final chapter.
> 
> I've spent the past year writing this story and I'm having a hard time believing that it's over. I cannot tell you all enough how grateful I am to each and every one of you for reading this story! I never would have thought I could actually write a _novel_ and even more so, a novel that people would actually be excited about reading. 
> 
> Whether you've commented on every chapter, or left one or two, or just hit the kudos button, your support has been invaluable to me. Thank you so very, very much dear friends. You are so greatly appreciated.
> 
> I also need to thank my wonderful beta and friend, [EllenOfOz](https://archiveofourown.org/users/EllenOfOz/pseuds/EllenOfOz) one more time. She's the bees knees and I adore her so very, very much. Thank you for making me a better writer and hell, probably a better person too.
> 
> And now, I hope you enjoy the epilogue.

** _Monday September 7, 2020_ **

Returning from his morning run, Cas jogs up the porch steps of the small but comfortable three-bedroom colonial he and Dean purchased together just a handful of months ago, with its café au lait siding and plum-colored door. They’d officially moved in together about six months after they started dating, when Dean’s lease expired, and it hadn’t taken long for Castiel’s modest apartment to begin to feel cramped, especially with a curious two-year-old who was into _everything. _

Stepping inside onto hardwood floors that had been one of home’s major selling points (for Cas at least—Dean had been far more excited about the updated kitchen with its double oven), he flips the deadbolt behind him before heading upstairs to the master bedroom, stopping along the way to grab a clean hand towel from the laundry basket on top of the drier and mopping up most of the sweat from his face and neck.

He’s searching their dresser for clothes to change into after his shower when he feels strong arms wrap around his middle.

“I’ve been waiting for you to get back,” whispers Dean’s husky voice in his ear.

Cas chuckles. “I’m all sweaty and gross. Give me twenty minutes to shower and I’m all yours.”

“Hmm,” Dean hums as Cas turns in his arms to face his sexy firefighter, “what I have in mind’ll just get you all sweaty again.” He backs away, gray sweatpants doing nothing to hide the evidence of his intentions, and cocks an eyebrow in challenge. “At least it will if you do it _right_.” 

Ah, so his boyfriend’s in _that_ kind of mood. It’s a good thing Claire’s spending the day with “Unca Sammy” and “Aunt Jess,” since Little Angels is closed for the Labor Day holiday. This being the two-year anniversary of his accident, Cas had asked the couple if they could watch Claire for the day and they happily agreed, eager to gain as much parenting “practice” as possible with Jess due in March. Last year, Dean had respected his wishes to spend the day alone, needing time and space to process all of the changes the accident had wrought in his life. This year, however, he wants to spend it with Dean. And he has to admit, this seems like a pretty great way to start their day.

“Is that so?” Cas asks, his own voice dropping an octave. Smirking, he reaches behind himself to grip the back of his gray AC/DC tee (an old one of Dean’s), pulling it over his head in one smooth motion, before tossing it on the floor without a glance, eyes locked on the man in front of him. Dean matches him, letting the white undershirt he’d been wearing fall to the floor before going one step further and dropping his sweats as well. 

Feeling his eyebrows lift in appreciation of the display before him, Cas openly ogles his naked boyfriend, eyes roving from Dean’s hair, mussed from pulling off his shirt, down his smooth chest, chiseled abs, and thick thighs. Even his boyfriend’s _calves_ are sexy, for Christ’s sake. Cas’ gaze finally trails back up Dean’s muscular legs to settle on his cock, full and flushed, curving slightly and begging to be touched. Palming his own hardening cock through his black runner’s shorts, Cas doesn’t move to take them off, instead stalking toward his boyfriend. 

“See something you like?” Dean waggles his eyebrows, looking far too pleased with himself, and Cas resolves to wipe that smirk off his gorgeous face. Stepping into Dean’s space, his hands come up to grip Dean’s waist while he kisses a line along the firefighter’s neck. 

“I might,” he says between kisses, “But I think…”

_Kiss._

“I need…”

_Kiss._

“A closer look.”

With that, he drops to his knees, sliding his hands from Dean’s hips to his outer thighs as he surges forward to swallow his boyfriend’s cock to its base, drawing a shout from the man above him that ends with Dean’s fingers twisted in his hair. Cas looks up at his boyfriend coyly over top his glasses, something he knows from experience Dean finds incredibly hot. 

“_Fuck_, Cas,” Dean wheezes and Cas is pleased to note there’s no trace of a smirk on his face now.

Humming in acknowledgement, he grips Dean’s thighs for leverage as he moves his head forward and back, sucking Dean’s cock from root to tip, dragging the flat of his tongue over the sensitive spot underneath as he goes.

Cas was certainly no novice when it came to oral sex prior to his and Dean’s relationship, but the past eighteen months have made him an expert on _Dean_ and it’s not long before Dean’s breathing speeds up and Cas knows he’s nearing the brink. 

Dean knows it too and he tugs at Cas’ hair, pulling him away from his straining cock. “Not yet, sweetheart. Wanna feel you. Wanna come with you inside me.” Cas lets himself be pulled to his feet and then Dean is kissing him, hard and deep, while dipping his hand past Cas’ waistband and wrapping it around his very eager cock.

Cas helps them both by pushing his shorts and boxer-briefs down his legs, stepping out of them and kicking them away, while Dean strokes his cock to full hardness. 

“How do you want me?” he whispers against Cas’ lips and Cas shivers. He’ll never tire of how strong, how powerful he feels when Dean places himself, and his pleasure, in Castiel’s hands like this. 

“Hands and knees,” he answers huskily after capturing Dean’s mouth in a long kiss. 

Dean climbs onto bed, crawling forward to retrieve their lube from his nightstand before tossing it behind him, watching over his shoulder with hungry eyes as Cas strokes the cool lubricant over his dick, giving it a few extra pumps just so he can watch the way Dean’s eyes darken even further.

“See something you like?” he teases, and Dean huffs a laugh.

“I’d rather _feel_ it, if it’s all the same to you.”

Climbing behind his boyfriend onto the same memory foam mattress where they’ve spent the past year and a half exploring one another’s bodies, hearts, and minds, Cas drapes himself over Dean’s back. His hard cock presses against the cleft of the other man’s ass as he whispers in Dean’s ear, “Trust me, love, you’ll feel it.”

It’s Dean’s turn to shiver this time and Cas smirks as he pulls back to line his slick cock up with Dean’s hole. Taking a moment to admire his lover laid out beneath him, Cas spreads Dean’s cheeks with his hands, running a slippery finger along the puckered furl and earning a moan from Dean.

Pressing his blunt cockhead against Dean’s rim, Cas presses forward until he’s breeched the tight ring of muscle at Dean’s entrance, pulling a groan from himself and a quiet hiss from his boyfriend. He pauses a moment to let Dean adjust, then, wrapping long fingers around Dean’s hips, slowly pushes onward, sinking into the tight heat of his firefighter’s body with a groan. 

Leaning forward again, he peppers the backs of Dean’s shoulders with kisses, the faded scars on his torso pressing up against the whorled skin on Dean’s back. The two of them really are a match, in so many ways. As Dean is fond of saying, they just _fit_. Pulling back, he moves inside of the man he still can’t believe is _his_ in slow, deep thrusts, eyes glued to where his cock is sliding in and out of his boyfriend’s absolutely majestic ass. 

Dean, however, has different ideas, grinding his ass back against Cas’ hips and drawing a groan from both of them. “_Fuck_. Stop teasin’, Cas.”

“As you wish,” Cas murmurs, picturing the eye roll he can’t see, but is certain Dean’s doing, nonetheless. 

Drawing back again, he pulls out almost all the way before sharply snapping his hips forward, getting a loud moan from his boyfriend in return. Grinning, Cas repeats the motion, tightening his grip on Dean’s hips to pound into him, hard and fast, the way Dean likes. Fairly quickly, Dean’s arms turn visibly shaky, then give way, his boyfriend sinking lower and lower, until his face is buried in the memory foam as Cas drives into him from behind. The change in angle allows him to get a better grip on Dean’s hips and he begins pulling the other man upward with each thrust, grazing his prostate in the process.

“Oh, shit, Cas. There, baby. Right fucking _there,_” Dean pants into the sheets, face buried in the crook of one arm as he reaches the other behind himself to grab at Cas’ thighs, pulling him in as deeply as possible. 

“I’ve got you, sweetheart,” Cas pants heavily, feeling more than a bit winded. He could have cut a couple miles off his run if he’d known he was coming home to _this._ Despite his fatigue, he feels the tension building behind his pelvis as he snaps his hips forward, again and again. Neither of them have any hope of stroking Dean’s cock at this angle and pace, so Cas focuses his energy on making every thrust count, brushing Dean’s prostate nearly every time and turning the man beneath him into a keening mess.

Dean’s babbled curses turn into wordless grunts and moans as his hands scrabble for purchase against the headboard, pressing him back toward Cas in a desperate attempt to keep himself from being shoved bodily up the bed by Cas’ powerful thrusts. Thighs burning and shaking, Cas drives into Dean, feeling the tension in his lower half mounting, a tightly coiled spring.

“Fuck, Dean, I…” cutting off with a wordless shout, Cas slams into Dean one last time, holding the man’s ass tight against him in a bruising grip as he pours his load into Dean’s willing body. Afterward, he takes a moment for the world to right itself before pulling out of Dean as gently as possible, though it still draws a hiss from his undoubtedly sore lover. 

“Sorry,” he murmurs, shifting so that Dean can slide a leg between his as he rolls onto his back.

“Nothing. To. Apologize for,” Dean pants, drawing in ragged breaths as he reaches for Cas, who collapses on to his chest.

Dean grunts under Cas’ solid weight. “Except maybe that,” he wheezes and Cas chuckles into his boyfriend’s sweaty neck. Looks like they’ll both need a shower now. 

Dean hisses again as Cas shifts, bringing his thigh into contact with Dean’s neglected dick. Reaching down with a hand still slightly shaking from adrenaline and fatigue, Cas wraps trembling fingers around Dean’s cock, but before he manages more than a few strokes, Dean takes a deep breath and rolls them over with a grunt. 

Straddling one of Cas’ thighs, the firefighter grins down at him. “Here, let me. You look a little tired there, sweetheart. Why is that?”

Working up a weary glare, Cas retorts, “I just tried to fuck the smartass out of my boyfriend. Turns out it’s a lost cause.”

“Well, I coulda told you that,” Dean quips, eyes growing dark again as he touches himself, looking down at Cas’ body. Cas fumbles weakly for the bottle of lube, tossed carelessly onto a pillow, and squirts some into Dean’s hand.

“Jesus Christ, sweetheart, look at you,” his boyfriend breathes, hand sliding up and down his length, eyes roving from Cas’ hair, to his sweat-slicked neck, down his still heaving chest to his abs and muscular thighs and back up again. If Cas hadn’t come just minutes ago (and didn’t feel like he’d just finished a marathon), he’d be growing hard under the hunger in that gaze. 

Cas runs tired fingers up Dean’s thighs, trailing them over his ass, across his flat stomach, and between his legs before cupping Dean’s balls in a hand.

“Mmm,” Dean moans appreciatively. “Fucking love when you touch me.”

“Fucking love touching you,” Cas counters and they share a soft smile. Whether it’s hard and fast or soft and slow, the one constant in their love-making is just that—love. 

“You’re so good to me, Dean. Still can’t believe you’re mine, especially when you’re all spread out beneath me, split open on my cock…” Cas keeps up the litany of dirty talk he knows drives his boyfriend crazy and it’s not long before Dean comes, his release coating Cas’ chest and stomach as the firefighter finally flops down on the bed beside him.

Cas shifts on the sheets again, feeling the salty remains of dried sweat and cooling come on his skin. “I feel disgusting.”

Dean snorts. “Look at that, a year and a half and the romance is dead. What happened to that sappy English teacher I fell for?”

Turning his head toward Dean, Cas reaches over and tangles their fingers together. “So long as men can breathe or eyes can see, so long lives this, and this gives life to thee."

Dean’s eyes are soft when he tugs their joined hands up to his lips, pressing a kiss against Cas’ knuckles. “There he is.” 

They lie there a few moments longer, before Dean finally rolls off the bed, pulling Cas with him and kissing him gently before sliding his glasses off and setting them folded on the night stand. They stumble to the shower on jelly-legs, happily collapsing into one another under the spray. As he kisses water droplets off his boyfriend’s nose, Cas thinks about his plans for the day ahead, hoping Dean will be as happy about them as he is.

* * *

Smiling, Dean pulls out the batter he’d placed in the fridge to chill alongside the strawberries he’d sliced while Cas was out for his run. He’s already changed the sheets on their bed, now all he has to do is put together their breakfast while Cas finishes up in the shower. 

Cas’ plans for the day are fairly simple. He and Dean are going to spend the afternoon side-by-side, watching reruns of _The Office_ and _Futurama _in bed, just like they used to in the early days of Cas’ recovery and their friendship. Dean had been touched that Cas would want to spend the day with him like that, especially since tomorrow is the first day of the school year, which Dean knows from last year is guaranteed to be as chaotic and stressful for his boyfriend as it is exciting. 

That’s why Dean’s added, “breakfast in bed” to their “Netflix and chill” plans (okay, the “and chill” part was Dean’s idea too, but Cas certainly didn’t seem to have any complaints). Dean smirks at the memory of their morning together and the twinge in his backside as he walks from the fridge to the stove, pouring the creamy chilled batter directly from the blender into the warmed, butter-coated pans on the stovetop. Using two pans to save time, Dean waits patiently for the crepes to turn golden-brown on their bottoms, making sure he’ll only need to flip them once.

_“Timing and patience. Yes, those do seem to be the keys to many of life’s problems, don’t they?”_

Chuckling to himself, Dean plates the last two crepes, which makes two each for him and Cas. They don’t see Missouri as regularly as they used to, though they are both still her clients, separately and together. Speaking of which, Missouri’s birthday is coming up at the end of the month. Dean makes a mental note to buy her a card before moving back to the refrigerator to retrieve the sliced strawberries and homemade chantilly cream. He starts assembling the crepes by grabbing four bananas from the fruit bowl on the granite countertop and peeling them, before rolling each one inside a cream-smeared crepe. 

For dinner, they’re going to have burgers at the Roadhouse, but Cas has asked to stop by the scene of his accident on the way. It’s something he says he did last year, just sat there for a few minutes and reflected on the day. He drives by it everyday on his way to school, of course, but it’s not quite the same and the accident no longer occupies his thoughts every time he drives by that intersection the way it once did. Dean understands. He still visits the site of his family’s old house every year on the anniversary of the fire, after all.

Pulling the key ingredient for their morning meal out of the freezer, Dean carefully places a large scoop of chocolate ice cream on top of each assembled crepe, before covering both plates in fresh strawberries and additional dollops of Chantilly cream. 

Beaming and feeling more than a little pleased with himself, Dean carefully carries the two plates up the stairs and into the master, where Cas is stretched out on their freshly made bed with his hair still shower-damp, looking more gorgeous than Dean’s ever seen him as he queues up Dunder-Mifflin on Netflix. They’d debated whether or not to put a TV in their bedroom when they moved into the new house, since the one in the apartment really hadn’t gotten a lot of use once Cas was all healed up, the two of them preferring to read after Claire was in bed in place of watching television. Dean secretly suspects the only reason that TV ended up in here is because the two of them are giant, nostalgic saps, but he’s certainly glad for that fact now.

“What’s all this?” Cas asks, looking away from the TV and reaching for a plate as Dean nears the bed. 

“Well, I do believe the traditional meal for this occasion is chocolate ice cream, but I seemed to remember you arguing that it’s ‘not a breakfast food.’ So, I made it one.” His triumphant smirk fades into something more affectionate as he sees Cas staring at him in open adoration.

“You’re amazing, you know that? In fact, it’s a good thing we just had sex less than an hour ago, otherwise this incredible breakfast you made us might melt before we had a chance to eat it.”

Dean waggles his eyebrows. “Why do you think I made sure we had sex _before_ you saw the crepes? All part of my master plan.”

“_You’re_ part of my master plan,” Cas says, kissing Dean soundly before pulling back to look at him with those sparkling blue eyes. 

Dean’s heart beats faster. 

He licks his lips. 

He clears his throat. 

He thinks of the gold band sitting in his sock drawer.

“Coffee,” he croaks. “I gotta go get the coffee. Go ahead and pick an episode.” Turning back on his way out the door, he points a finger at his boyfriend, who grins. “Don’t pick one of the Robert California ones though. You know I hate those.”

“Yes, dear,” Cas says with a roll of his eyes and Dean retreats down the hallway.

He’s still debating with himself hours later, as they leave the house together. He’s had that ring for weeks and has been thinking about proposing for even longer, but it’s just never felt like the right moment. It’s not that he doubts Cas’ response, he really doesn’t, not anymore. Sure, there’s always a bit of nerves when it comes to a proposal, that irrational fear that you’ve got it all wrong, that this person you want to spend the rest of your life with isn’t as certain as you are. But he and Cas have talked about marriage, both at home and in counseling, and it’s always been framed as a matter of “when,” rather than “if.” Cas had given him a perfect opportunity to pop the question this morning, but once again, Dean had chickened out.

Cas smiles nervously at him as he slides into the passenger side of the Impala and buckles his seatbelt. Dean reaches over and intertwines their fingers, giving them a squeeze as he sees some of the tension leak out of Cas’ shoulders at the grounding touch.

_No_, he argues with himself. This day is supposed to be about Cas and his time to reflect on his accident. It’s not about Dean, or them, or their relationship. Thinking about it that way makes Dean feel a little disgusted with himself for even contemplating the idea of proposing today of all days.

Except.

Except Cas had made a big deal about wanting to include Dean in this day, about wanting to focus on _them_ this year, instead of just on himself and the accident. After all, this isn’t just the anniversary of Cas’ injury. It’s the anniversary of the day they met. It makes sense that Cas would want to focus on the more positive association with the day, but would a proposal strengthen that positive association, or would it be tainted by being attached to such painful memories?

Sighing internally as they head out of their older (mature, Cas calls it), but well-maintained neighborhood, Dean takes the familiar route towards Cas’ school. There’s no point in stressing about the proposal until they get to the intersection. Maybe then he’ll be able to get a better read on Cas’ headspace. The ring has been transferred from its super-secret hiding place inside of Dean’s oldest, balled up gym socks, to his pocket. If Cas seems to be in a good mood after their visit to the accident scene, he’ll propose at dinner. The Roadhouse may not be the fanciest place for a proposal, but he and Cas have never been about fancy. 

Though holding Cas’ hand had seemed to calm him initially, the closer they get to the accident scene, the more nervous he appears to become, shifting restlessly in his seat and fidgeting with a loose string on the hem of his shirt as he stares out the window.

“Hey,” Dean says softly, giving Cas’ hand another squeeze as he darts his gaze from his boyfriend to the road in front of them, “you okay? We don’t have to do this, you know.”

Seeming slightly startled, Cas turns to him, then relaxes and smiles at the concerned frown Dean shoots him.

“I’m okay, Dean,” he answers giving Dean’s hand an answering squeeze. “Just lost in my thoughts… and a little tired. I wonder why that is…” he pauses as they both grin, Dean adding an eyebrow waggle for good measure. “Would you mind if we stop at _I Dream of Beanie_ before the intersection?”

“Of course, whatever you want, sweetheart.” It’s only a couple minutes later when they pull into _I Dream of Beanie_’s parking lot. 

“I’ll run in and get our drinks if you want to keep the car running,” Cas offers. “No sense in both of us standing in line.” 

Dean doesn’t usually drink coffee this late in the day, especially in the summer since he refuses to order one of those frou-frou iced coffee drinks (even though he’ll undoubtedly steal a few sips from the one Cas is sure to order), but he’s not going to make Cas get coffee alone. He’s working on it, but his boyfriend still has a habit of feeling guilty when he thinks people have gone out of their way for him. Dean figures that’s the last thing he needs on his mind today.

He’s a little surprised the coffeeshop is even open with it being a federal holiday and even more surprised to see that they’re fairly busy. He smiles when he spots the large sign out front, announcing a special, “Last Day of Summer” game day for the local high school students. He can see why Cas and Charlie choose to hold so many of their GSA meetings here. In fact, he recognizes several GSA members from his time spent volunteering at their fundraisers and events. The kids eagerly greet Cas with a smile, a laugh, and sometimes a hug and they grin and wave excitedly when Cas turns and points Dean out in the car. 

Dean chuckles. That last girl had nearly bowled Cas over with the exuberance of her hug. She lets Cas go and turns a beaming smile on Dean. He grins back, and the girl laughs before turning back to her friends as Cas moves on into the brightly lit coffee shop. Dean can’t help but feel proud of his boyfriend. For someone who had seemed so isolated and alone in that hospital room just a couple of years ago, Cas has really built quite the community around himself. Naturally, Dean hopes Cas never finds himself hurt and stuck in hospital room again (his stomach clenches at the very thought of it), but he knows if it were to happen, the last thing Cas would be now is alone. He’d be surround by cards, flowers, balloons and the family, friends, and students who brought them. And, of course, there’d be Dean.

It’s not nearly as long as Dean expects when Cas returns to the car, one iced coffee (Dean knew it) and one steaming cup for him, which looks to be doubled up. “Sorry, they were out of the little cardboard sleeves,” Cas explains as he buckles his seatbelt.

“I didn’t expect you back so fast. That line looked intense.”

Cas chuckles. “Megan let me cut to the front of the line,” Cas explains, naming one of their favorite baristas. They still frequent _I Dream of Beanie _enough to know a number of the staff by name and Megan is one of the baristas who participated in their initial coffee-cup-note-passing, a tradition which hasn’t ended. Dean still occasionally takes Cas coffee at school, with a cute note scrawled on the side of the cup. And it’s not uncommon for Dean to order his own coffee at_ I Dream of Beanie_, only to be handed a cup with a hand-drawn picture of Grumpy Bee Cas. “I’m pretty sure I was the only one over the age of eighteen in there and possibly I looked a little frightened. I adore my high schoolers, but I’m certainly used to seeing them… a bit less chaotic than this.”

Dean laughs, remembering Overly-Excited-Hug-Girl. Cas takes Dean’s coffee back after buckling his seatbelt, offering to hold it until it cools down a bit, since Dean’s driving. He’s really glad they decided to stop for coffee. Cas looks much more relaxed as they pull out of the parking lot. Seeing some of his students was clearly the distraction he needed to get him out of his head. 

Cas has managed to down his entire iced coffee nonsense (and Dean is _not at all_ disappointed he didn’t get a sip) by the time they reach the intersection, only a handful of miles from the coffeeshop. Huh, so maybe he’s still a little wound up after all. Dean pulls over to the safety of the large gravel shoulder leading into the field where the Medevac had landed to transport Cas two years ago. From this vantage point, they can see the field stretching out to their right, with the road that leads to Cas’ school directly in front of them, forming a “T” with the main road now on their left.

The untamed grass of the field sways gently in the warm summer breeze as Dean turns off the car and unbuckles his seatbelt, picturing this intersection as he first saw it, the day of Cas’ accident: shards of auto glass sparkling on the black asphalt, pieces of twisted metal and plastic littering the roadway, a black SUV with a mangled front end sitting just left of where Dean sits now. Dean recalls walking across the intersection, toward the dark blue Highlander where it was pushed nearly off the road, the entire front end crushed and folded in on itself, its lone occupant tossed halfway across the vehicle, his legs twisted and trapped underneath the steering column. 

“Mornin’ Sunshine,” he’d greeted the barely conscious dark-haired driver, who opened the bluest eyes Dean had ever seen…

He’s pulled out of his memories by the feeling of Cas sliding toward him across Baby’s bench seat and pressing the the now-warm coffee cup into his hand, having set his own empty cup and the second cup that had taken the place of the protective sleeve for Dean’s hot coffee on the floor. 

“You looked far away for a minute there,” Cas comments in that deep rumble that never fails to soothe Dean. “What were you thinking?”

Shrugging, Dean downs a large gulp of coffee before he answers, “Nothing really. Just remembering the first time I saw you here.”

“That’s funny,” his boyfriend answers, “Because do you know what I think about most when I look at this intersection?” He’s fidgeting with the hem of his shirt again and Dean reaches his free hand down to cover both of Cas’.

“What?” he asks, taking another sip of coffee, but keeping his eyes glued on the man across from him, so Cas knows he’s got Dean’s full attention. This is why they’re here and he wants to hear everything and anything Cas wants to share with him about that day. 

“You.”

Dean’s still feeling that single word reverberate through his chest when Cas continues, “I think about your eyes: the same color as the tree leaves surrounding you as I looked up through that shattered windshield. I think about your voice: so protective when you refused to leave me as they cut off the roof. I think about the feeling of your forehead pressed against mine through that awful tarp. I think about how you made me feel safer and more cared for in that one moment than anyone had made me feel in my entire life. And that was before I even knew you.”

Dean wants to say something in response to Cas, to tell him how he felt their connection just as strongly, from that very first moment, but there’s a lump in his throat he can’t quite talk around. That’s okay though, because it turns out Cas isn’t done.

“That’s why I wanted you here with me today, Dean. When I think about this day, I don’t think about the accident, or the pain, or the fear I felt. Those memories are still there, but they aren’t the first thing I remember. Not anymore. Not for a very long time. When I think about that day, I think about you, about _us._ For me, this isn’t the anniversary of my accident. It’s the anniversary of the day we met.”

Cas is starting to sound a little choked up himself now and, coffee all but abandoned, Dean lifts their joined hands, placing an encouraging kiss on his boyfriend’s knuckles.

After a deep, shuddering breath, Cas pushes on, “I would go through every moment of pain, every day in that hospital, every ungodly PT session again happily, if I knew it would lead me to you. To _this_,” Cas says, squeezing Dean’s hand.

“When I think about how closed-off I was back then, how close we came to never meeting, it scares me more than any car accident ever could. I can’t imagine my life without you, Dean. I don’t _want_ to imagine my life without you. When I think about what I want for the future, I realize that it’s exactly what I have right now. Us. Sharing a home together, raising our daughter together, building a life together. There’s only one thing I can think to want. One more thing for us to do together.”

Dean’s mouth has gone dry, all the moisture seemingly having fled to his sweaty palms. His heart can’t decide if it wants to race or stop beating altogether. What’s the number for that goddamn cardiologist? He might need a pulmonologist too, because he’s barely breathing.

“Every step we’ve taken in our relationship so far, you’ve led the way. And I love you for that. But this time, if you don’t mind, I think it’s my turn to take the lead.”

Giving Dean’s damp palm one final squeeze before letting go, Cas nods pointedly to the forgotten coffee cup in Dean’s left hand.

“Drink your coffee, Dean.”

Blinking down at the coffee cup, Dean sees familiar silver lettering peeking out from beneath his fingers.

With shaking hands, he lifts the cup to eye level and turns it, revealing the familiar figure of Grumpy Bee Cas, but there’s no fancy quote from script or song. Just a message… and a question.

_“I love you, Dean. Yesterday, today, and always. Will you _bee_ my husband?”_

The words blur in front of Dean’s eyes and he blinks away the tears, which hastily join the ones already tracing pathways down his cheeks. When did he start crying? It’s an effort to pull his eyes away from the coffee cup, as if the words might disappear the moment he looks away. He’s glad he succeeds though when he looks back up at Cas and silver Sharpie is replaced with a silver wedding band. 

Throat still too choked up for words, he launches himself at Cas instead, nearly knocking his new fiancé backward in the process and feeling suddenly relieved that he’d managed to drink half of his coffee before reading Cas’ proposal. That’s the only reason Baby’s bench seat isn’t covered in coffee right now. Fumbling for the dash, Dean sets the cup down (carefully) so he can wrap both arms around his fiancé. Well, the man who _will _be his fiancé, if he can manage to get his shit together enough to actually answer Cas’ question. As it is, Dean’s just sort of clinging to his boyfriend and sobbing into his shoulder.

Cas’ hands rub soothing circles into Dean’s back. “Dean? Sweetheart?” he asks finally, pulling back enough to look at Dean’s tear-streaked face. “Are you okay?” Dean somehow manages to both nod and shake his head at the same time. 

Face growing concerned, Cas moves to flip the velvety ring box closed. “Is it too soon? Too much? You don’t have to…”

With knee-jerk speed, Dean snatches the tiny black box from Cas’ hand, scrabbling to get the ring out of the satiny white interior and onto his finger, where it’s a perfect fit. He doesn’t know what the rest of that sentence was going to be, but he knows damn well he never wants to hear it.

Cas’s startled gasp turns into a quiet chuckle as Dean frantically scrambles for the ring. “I take it that’s a yes, then?”

“Of course, it’s a yes,” Dean says hoarsely as he finally (thank fuck!) recovers the power of speech and pulls Cas into a frantic kiss. “Wanna marry you so goddamn bad, you giant dork.” 

Cas sniffs and lets out another, wetter chuckle this time and Dean kicks himself internally, despite the fact that he can’t stop grinning. Jesus, will he ever _not _be awkward? Oh well, Cas is stuck with him now, he thinks to himself, looking down to admire the brushed white gold band with its faceted, honeycomb pattern.

Cas blushes nervously on the seat next to him as Dean traces a finger over the hexagonal shapes. “It reminded me of bees,” he admits sheepishly, “which always make me think of you, because of…” he gestures at Dean’s coffee cup on the dash. “Charlie seemed to think it was a nice idea, when I showed her.”

It’s Dean’s turn to chuckle, “I bet she did,” he says softly, shaking his head. “You know Cas, you were right on the money with that entire proposal, except for one thing.”

At Cas’ confused look, he explains, “I wish, with all of my heart, that you’d never had to go through the pain of that accident, Cas. I don’t regret that we met that way, because it’s our story and I love it, just like I love you. Plus,” he adds with a watery smirk, “I come off pretty good in that story.”

Cas chuckles and Dean grins before continuing, “But I truly believe, that sooner or later, you and I would have met. And not just because you’re my match and I know with everything in me that we’re meant to be together.” Cas’ eyes grow soft and shiny behind his glasses. “But because of one tiny, interfering redhead,” Dean finishes and Cas laughs. 

Leaning back in his seat, Dean fishes the ring that’s been hibernating in his sock drawer for weeks now out of his pocket. He holds the ring up for Cas to see and his fiancé gasps as the thick stripe of hammered yellow gold glows in the afternoon sunlight, framed on either side by a narrow band of white.

“It made me think of honey,” Dean explains, “which reminded me of-”

“The coffee mug you bought me,” Cas finishes, his voice thick as honey. “Oh, Dean.”

Cas’ hand is shaking a little as Dean slides the ring into place. “Charlie seemed to think this ring was a great idea too and she was pretty damn insistent that I have it with me today, ‘just in case the time was right.’”

Shaking his head, Cas admires the honey-gold band on his finger as he speaks, “Our wonderful, interfering family. Sam kept pushing me to add a line to the cup about ‘checking yes or no,’ but it didn’t really seem to fit.”

Dean laughs when he remembers the conversation he’d had with his brother right after he and Cas had _finally_ worked out their shit. “Speaking of our nosy, overly-involved-in-our-love-life family, who should we call first? Or do you want to wait and tell them all in person?”

Cas bites his lip, looking sheepish again. “Actually, they’re kind of all at the Roadhouse right now, waiting to throw us an engagement party.”

Dean raises an eyebrow, “You planned an engagement party before I said yes? Cocky.”

“I prefer _confident._”

“Well, I’m always up for a party at the Roadhouse, but it’s too bad really. I mean, we still have the house to ourselves for a few more hours and I can think of any number of ways we could celebrate on our own.”

Cas grins wickedly, before schooling his face into something more serious and nodding again to the cup on Dean’s dash, “Well, we should probably take that home before we go to the Roadhouse, anyway. I wouldn’t want to risk anything happening to it.”

Dean grins back at his fiancé and slides over to buckle his seatbelt. And if they happen to show up late to their own party and looking a little more rumpled than usual, well, no one says anything.

It’s hours later when Dean sits in a quiet corner of the Roadhouse, watching his friends and family as their exuberant celebration dies down into something quieter and more intimate. Sam and Gabe bicker at one another in a booth while a very pregnant Jess and stunning-as-ever Kali roll their eyes. Charlie sits on a barstool next to Gilda, resting her head on her fiancee’s shoulder. Jo tosses back a drink while soundly beating Benny at pool (Andrea’s at home with their twins). Ellen’s come out from behind the bar to sit across from Bobby, her feet in his lap as they quietly sip their beers. 

Dean feels soft and sleepy and happy, that last feeling expanding when he feels the press of Cas’ beringed left hand on his shoulder. “Claire’s still out,” his fiancé says softly, giving Dean’s shoulder a squeeze. “You look pretty tired, yourself. We can head out, if you want.” 

Dean tips his head back to look up at Cas, whose usually bright eyes are almost navy in the dim bar lighting, but full of love and adoration for Dean, nonetheless. Cas leans over him and they share a kiss before Dean tugs him down into his lap. Securing his arms around his future husband’s waist he answers, “Nah, I’m good. You okay if we stay a bit longer?” 

“Of course, Dean. We’ll stay.”

THE END

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> And there you have it. I hope you enjoyed this story even a fraction as much as I've enjoyed sharing it with you! And if you aren't ready for it to be over, rest assured, neither am I! Some of you have noticed that this is the first work in a series. Be sure to subscribe to the series if you'd like to receive notifications about the TIME STAMPS I have planned for these two awkwardly adorable dorks! Also, you can reblog this story on Tumblr, [here](https://a-mandala-rose.tumblr.com/post/190433251339/now-complete-title-stay-with-me).
> 
> Also, because I can't not ask you a question on our LAST chapter, how long before you realized Cas was going to propose and not Dean? Did you know all along? If not, what gave it away? 
> 
> [Here](https://www.mariakillam.com/wp-content/uploads/2018/10/Purple-Front-Door.jpg) is my inspiration for Cas and Dean's house.
> 
> The "sappy" line Cas quoted to Dean was from William Shakespeare's _Sonnet 18_.
> 
> The breakfast Dean makes for Cas is based loosely on [this AMAZING meal](https://66.media.tumblr.com/ce5c7dbf6d375f3f45b2a96fc396b68c/fb816a871b2c0bdb-6c/s1280x1920/a3ff205e3be7d9e5127231f9413b23b8b7809e8a.jpg) I had at the [Bayside Skillet](https://thebaysideskillet.com/) in Ocean City, MD. I want to eat it again SO BAD.
> 
> And now, what I know you REALLY want to see, [Dean and Cas' rings](https://66.media.tumblr.com/f530013763be8ff98d46600df6f0a252/fb816a871b2c0bdb-1e/s1280x1920/84da9894d4b796f2a66f9bd9e7668bbfbbf111f2.png).
> 
> If you enjoyed this story and would like to see some more domestic Destiel from me, check out my (much, much, MUCH) shorter story, [_Interrupted___](https://archiveofourown.org/works/18521236)__.__
> 
> __  
Also, stay tuned (or hit subscribe to receive notifications) for my next story (also much, much shorter), _Feels Like the Wind_, in which wind sprite Castiel meets kite maker Dean.


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